


Letters from Ignis

by OstelanExcruciasm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drama, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Heavily Implied Ignoct, Slice of Life, episodic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:47:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OstelanExcruciasm/pseuds/OstelanExcruciasm
Summary: An episodic character study of Ignis Scientia as he comes to terms with the sudden loss of his eyesight. Loosely based on the stages of grief, we follow Ignis through a possible interpretation of his journey toward acceptance and healing, taking place between those few points we saw in canon.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 18





	1. Denial

_Noct,_

_Already, five weeks have passed since you’ve gone. I’ve been practicing my writing, and I hope that these messages are legible. Prompto assures me that my penmanship is the same ‘chocobo scratches’ that it’s always been. I trust his judgment, but I will be brief. There’s no sense rambling for too long if you can’t read it._

_The days continue to shrink as time goes on, so we have been doing our part in preparing Lucis for the inevitable. It is all but certain now that in just a few short months, we will no longer have daylight at all. Daemons prowl ever closer to civilization, and so it is up to those of us who can fight to ward them off. Though still quite unsteady, I am doing the best I can. I’ve already made great strides in training. Even Gladio is impressed._

_We’ve seen neither hide nor hair of the chancellor. I suspect he is holed up in the Crown City, biding his time. Infiltrations are underway, but by all accounts, our home is a wasteland. At least, it is for now. I have every confidence that Insomnia_ — _indeed, all of Lucis_ — _can be restored, and then some._

_To that end, Prompto received a message from Vyv the other day, asking if he would join him on a photography tour of Lucis. I could hear the lift in his voice as he told us. He is eager to capture the beauty of this world while there’s still light left in it, yet I sense some apprehension from him as well. He very much wants to go, but is obviously reluctant to leave Gladio and me._

_Would that you were here with us. I know that you would set his mind at ease._

_Ignis Scientia_

* * *

Pain.

Pain was first to greet him as he woke. The sterile, dry air burned his lungs with his first conscious breath. Bruised ribs and swollen muscles twinged at the sudden expansion of his chest. He winced. Bandages tightened around his face, the adhesive tugging at his broken skin. He groaned, the sound gurgling and dying in his raw throat. His fists clenched the sheets beneath him, on one side jostling a needle embedded in his hand, while on the other side aggravating several patches of open wounds. His eyes watered behind their sealed lids, stinging and inflamed. His head throbbed on all sides. There was nothing Ignis could do that did not hurt.

_What… have I done…?_

“Ah! Gladio!” a voice gasped on his left, piercing and bright as it struck his eardrums. “He’s awake!”

A breath caught from across the room. Heavy footsteps hurried to his other side. The mattress creaked, sinking under the new weight pressing into its edges. “Iggy… can you hear us?”

Darkness.

Darkness was his second visitor — a complete absence of all sight. The faces of his friends were mere images from his memory, hovering vaguely in his periphery. From the black void, he could only faintly detect the direction from which they called to him. He turned toward them, his neck stiff and unyielding. “Where…?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Prompto answered. “You’ve been out for more than a day.”

The pain didn’t end where his flesh ran out, nor was it exclusive to his sore muscles and mending bones. Deep in his mind, where his memories gradually poured back to his consciousness, the ache permeated his thoughts. Images from that day lingered on, both in what he saw and in what he felt. He’d hoped, prayed even, that it was all nightmares. But as he rose out of his slumber, weathering the aftershocks of the trauma, it became quite clear that those events were not dreams.

“No…” he clarified his request with a hoarse and raspy voice. “Where… is Noct?”

There followed a heavy pause, filled with uncertainty, and far more painful than any of the injuries he had sustained. “He’s sleeping,” the reply was quiet, subdued. “Back at the hotel. He inhaled a lot of sea water, but he’s gonna be okay.”

Ignis was granted his first glimpse of relief at the news. Noct was alive. He was safe. He would recover. For the moment, that was all that mattered. The pain, however briefly, dissolved into numbness and fatigue as he let himself relax. He sighed, his head falling back into the pillow as the last of his strength was spent. _He’s going to be okay._ That was enough for now.

“Might as well let him rest,” Gladio’s voice rumbled in the distance, fading toward the exit. “I’m heading back to the hotel. You comin’?”

Prompto hesitated. “Uh… I’ll stay for a bit. Just until visiting hours are over.”

A beat passed, culminating in only a grunt of acknowledgment as Gladio left the room. Prompto released a shuddering sigh, the last remaining tension in his body dissipating as he was left alone to stew. Even though he could not see it, Ignis could plainly sense the distress between his friends, the strain on their composure. Tiny pinpricks of guilt began to puncture him as he wondered what they’d been through all this time. What they’d seen in his absence. What they must have thought when they found him, and what they must think of him now. Ignis reached out, blindly grasping in the direction of Prompto’s voice. “Prompto…”

“I’m here, Iggy,” he answered hastily, meeting Ignis’s cold fingers with his own. “I’m right here.”

“Be with Noct…” Ignis croaked. “He needs…”

Too exhausted to form the words, Ignis quickly ran out of air before he could finish his sentence. But he needed Prompto to understand. It was too important to let go. He sucked in another breath, bracing himself against the ache in his lungs as he prepared to speak again, but Prompto shushed him with a gentle squeeze of his fingers.

“It’s okay,” he promised, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll go as soon as you fall asleep.”

It was an answer that Ignis would have to accept. His voice was too tired to protest. His mind was too tired to think, his body too tired to hurt any longer. In all honesty, he welcomed Prompto’s company. If the alternative was to lie in bed, aching and worrying to himself all through the night, then he appreciated that his friend intended to stay, if only for a while. At least, with Prompto there, he wouldn’t have to be alone with his thoughts. Not for long, anyway.

He sank into the mattress and listened to the hums and beeps of the machines in the room — those steady signs of life emanating from him. He shouldn’t have lived; he knew that well. But the incessant blips in the otherwise quiet suite were proof that he had survived. That pain which lingered in every limb, every bone, every muscle served as a reminder that he was alive. Alive, and healing. By those comforts, he was lulled back to sleep, into his dreams where the pain was kind enough not to follow him.

Silence.

Silence, a complete stillness in the air marked when he was truly alone. He had no concept of the time which had passed when he woke again, his vision still shrouded in darkness. The pain flooded back into his senses, throbbing under the bandages covering his face. The room was eerily quiet, but for those same machines whirring softly in the background. It must have been late, he surmised. There were likely some hours left until morning. It would have been wise to simply go back to sleep before the discomfort became too persistent to bear. But, not for lack of trying, it seemed his body was reluctant to let him slip under again. Even at this time of night, the press of a button would bring someone to him, ready to dispense anything he asked for, but he neither wanted nor needed anything at all. He wasn’t hungry or thirsty. He had no desire for more pain relief. Just the thought of having to talk to someone seemed too much for now. Yet, in spite of his exhaustion, sleep did not welcome him back.

It was apparent, however, that fate had different ideas. Ignis thought he was alone. He was certain of it, until he felt the mattress shift somewhere at the foot of his bed.

“Prompto…?” he whispered. “Is that you?”

There was no answer to his call. What followed instead were the careful steps of small limbs, tiptoeing around his own as they crawled toward him. _An animal?_ Ignis assumed he was dreaming. No respectable hospital would allow an animal into the facility. Surely, he would wake up any moment now and find that he was indeed alone in his room, accompanied once again only by aches, pains, and heavy silence. The footfalls drew closer until Ignis felt soft fur brush against his hand. A cold, wet nose nudged at him. A soft, familiar whine rang from the creature as it pleaded for his attention.

“Umbra…?” There was no question that his visitor was a dog. Ignis could not see the beast, but it was clear that it held some sense of familiarity for him. The animal laid down at his side, resting its chin on his knee. Who else could it be, if not Umbra? The only other dog Ignis had made contact with, in recent memory, was Pryna. And, he recalled most vividly, Pryna was gone.

“Ah, Umbra…” he repeated with the deepest of sympathies for the poor creature. “I’m so sorry…”

The dog nudged his hand again, dropping an object into his open palm — a small, leather-bound booklet. Ignis recognized right away the journal that Noct and Lady Lunafreya had passed back and forth across the seas for many years, delivered without fail by none other than this very animal. The book contained probably a hundred little notes, messages between friends, gradually transforming to letters between lovers. There was now no question that this dog was Umbra, and that he intended for this notebook to be returned to Noct, its rightful owner.

“I see…” Ignis understood, clutching the journal tightly in his fingers. “I’ll ensure that he gets it back. You have my word as Hand of the King.”

The dog made no more sounds, no more movements. He stayed at rest beside him until eventually Ignis became aware that the animal was gone, leaving him with only his remaining three companions. Pain, to remind him that he was alive. Darkness, to remind him that he was awake. Silence, to remind him that he was alone.

He drifted back into unconsciousness, lulled by the pulsing rhythm of the pains in his arm. He really couldn’t be certain whether or not the experience was just a dream. Not until he woke in the morning and found the journal lying on his nightstand beneath his folded spectacles. He’d been reaching for the button to call a nurse, finally caving to his desperation for even a sip of coffee, when his fingers grazed the shriveled, water-damaged leather binding. He dared not open it. It wasn’t as though he could read it anyway. Instead, he kept it tightly clasped under his arm, unwilling to risk letting anyone else take it away.

The booklet was one of Noct’s most precious possessions. Its pages held a lifetime of memories, a decade-long story that had come to a tragic end. It would have to wait until he could see Noct again, but once that day came when the prince awoke, Ignis had a promise — a solemn, daunting promise to fulfill.

* * *

He hadn’t prepared for such a long stay. The stiff cot in which he slept had done a number on his back. The noise of squeaky wheels, whirring machines, and beeping monitors were a constant nuisance. The food was an insult to his culinary prowess. Everything packaged, everything cheap and low-quality. Nothing fresh, and it all tasted artificial in some way. Even the air smelled artificial — too clean and sterile, too dry. Above all, he was _bored,_ spending hours at a time in bed listening to bad television dramas and tasteless music. In the end, when days had passed and he was too restless to loaf around in the burn ward for one more second, Ignis all but demanded to be released from hospital. And, to his pleasant surprise, the doctor obliged and sent him on his way.

It was just as well that he’d managed to escape so prematurely. Ignis had asked about Noct every day when Gladio and Prompto came to visit, never hearing any news other than that the crown prince was still asleep. He bore each update with a grimace, knowing that someone was having to care for him — a task which should have been his own. Eager to reclaim his duties as Hand of the King, Ignis was prepared to keep a constant vigil at his friend’s side if it was necessary. After everything that had occurred, he couldn’t bear the thought of Noct finally waking up, only to be every bit as alone as he was when he went to sleep.

For his first morning back at the hotel, Ignis set his alarm for dawn, just as he always had, but was wide awake long before it went off. The moment it rang, he deactivated it swiftly by pure muscle memory. Visiting Noct was the first thing on his mind, and he climbed out of bed faster than his newly-handicapped body could handle. It took him just a moment to remember, when he reflexively tried to lift his eyelids and met the same resistance he’d endured every morning since the incident. There were extra steps to opening his eyes now — new rules to which he was still adjusting — and in his excitement, he’d forgotten his patience.

Humbled yet again, Ignis slowed his pace as he stumbled through his morning routine and all the extra steps therein. Each day began with ten minutes of wet compress before he could even begin to pry his eyelids open. What followed was a few seconds of internal coaxing and a slow breath before applying the wretched, burning drops. The bath was next, and he supposed that if he weren’t so stubborn and prideful — or, perhaps, shy — he might have accepted his friends’ offers for assistance. He had to be so careful, so delicate with the damaged flesh on his face and around his shoulder. It was slow, tedious, and more than a little painful. Such was the life of a burn victim, he supposed.

The medical staff were kind enough, and wise enough, not to ask questions. He’d been burned. That was all they needed to know to treat his injuries. And when those injuries healed, there was a marginal probability that he’d get his eyesight back. Partially. In one eye. As minuscule as the chances were, Ignis clung tightly to that sliver of hope, taking extreme care with his wounds. He only ever opened his eyes to apply the drops — the cold liquid flame that burned with such intensity that he swore it was happening all over again. The ointment he spread over his face, down his neck and across his chest and shoulder stung terribly on his broken skin. To heal was excruciating, but it was temporary. It was all temporary.

By some miracle, he’d made it through the majority of his daily grooming, now clean, dry, and dressed. He’d been fussing with his hair — a rather hopeless endeavor if there ever was one — when the door opened, and a cheery voice came to greet him.

“‘Morning, Iggy!”

It was Prompto’s voice, sounding as though he’d been awake for hours. Ignis found it surprising and a bit odd, considering just how early it was, but rather than scold him for entering unannounced, he politely returned the greeting as he laced his mousse-covered fingers through his damp locks. “Good morning.”

With a silent prayer of thanks to the Astrals for the small blessing of an on-suite electric hair dryer, Ignis continued with his grooming. The use of such a device cut a sizable chunk of time out of his routine, although he more than made up for it when his hair was dry and the real work was to begin. He’d suspected that Prompto may have left at some point when the noise was too loud for them to chat, but to his surprise, when he returned the hair dryer to its mount, he could still hear the quiet shuffling of his companion roaming aimlessly about the room.

“What can I do for you, Prompto?” he asked as he gently raked a fine-toothed comb through his freshly dried hair.

“I just came to, uh… check in,” Prompto replied sheepishly. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” Ignis answered with confidence. “Healthy and well-rested.”

A genuine smile was heard in Prompto’s response. “That’s good news!”

“Indeed.”

For how many times Ignis had set his hair in this position, he figured he should have had the process memorized, and therefore no need for his eyesight. In trying to recreate the style without a single visual cue, however, he quickly discovered that he was wrong. His arms were getting tired, but he persevered, tugging the comb gently through his hair and following with a thin layer of wax between his fingers, pulling it all into place and hoping it stayed there. His tools were, at one time, laid neatly in a row on the counter, but in his rapid cycling between them, he’d managed to lose track more than once of where they’d been left. He was reaching for the spray, feeling around the bare marble surface for several seconds before the bottle was placed into his hand. It was a kind gesture, and he’d never resent Prompto for wanting to help, but Ignis couldn’t resist the sudden twinge of bitterness then. He clenched his jaw and pursed his lips, hoping that he hadn’t visibly expressed any frustration in the presence of his well-meaning friend.

“Um… you want some help?” Prompto asked with obvious uncertainty. “With your hair? I can do it exactly like you usually—”

“Thank you, Prompto, but that won’t be necessary,” Ignis replied shortly as he applied a few sprays to the long fringe standing over his forehead. “I’ll manage.”

Ignis brushed his fingertips all along every section of his head, inspecting his work to the best of his ability. In searching for any loose strays, he familiarized himself with how the different sections lay on his scalp, which direction the strands grew, the length to which different portions were cut. The complexity of it all was fascinating to him — something to which he hadn’t paid much attention before. He could cut Noct’s hair — he’d done so for years, and had looked away a fair few times in the process — but never his own. A blind man, he guessed, would need to understand every lock, and would have only touch with which to educate himself. After all, in a few weeks, some portions would grow too long and need to be cut. How would he know without being able to see it?

When he was satisfied with his efforts, he rinsed his hands and headed back toward his nightstand to retrieve his glasses. “Right. I’m going to visit Noct.”

Prompto hesitated. “Oh, uh… O-Okay then.”

Ignis arched an eyebrow. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

He could hear Prompto shifting his feet. “Well, I mean…”

“I’ve mucked it up, haven’t I?”

“No, no! You look great! It’s just a little… um… lopsided?”

Ignis clenched his fists against the counter’s edge, staring into the mirror as if he could actually see his reflection. It had been a morning of small victories, and now one defeat. He wasn’t a man to become discouraged after only one setback, but it seemed this instance would be the exception to the rule. Damned if everything didn’t feel ‘lopsided’ now that he was blind.

Prompto’s soft plea roused him from his brief downward spiral. “Iggy… Let me help.”

Ignis paused. Prompto sought only to spare his feelings, and he certainly appreciated the consideration, yet in his stubbornness, he was still compelled to resist the helping hand he knew he needed. It was his job to care for the others — to care for Noct. He knew no other purpose in life but to serve and to protect. To suddenly find himself thrust into reverse, forced to allow himself to be taken care of instead, was an insult to everything he’d spent so many years preparing for. It was shameful. It was degrading. He wasn’t ready to throw it all away.

But, now wasn’t the time for pride or ego. He couldn’t visit Noct looking like a vagrant. After all, there was very somber news to deliver, and the last thing he wanted was to be a distraction from his friend’s grief.

“Very well,” he sighed heavily. “Take the reins. And do it quickly. I mustn’t keep him waiting.”

“Alright!” Prompto lit up with excitement. “This is gonna be fun!”

Too tall for his young friend to reach, Ignis was guided into a chair where he sat perfectly motionless. Prompto’s touch was soft and feathery, but his movements were quick and unpredictable. At times, it seemed as though he was plucking strands at random, whipping the comb around with no sense of structure to his work. Other times, he was very careful, almost meticulous in how he tamed every lock into its assigned position. Ignis could only guess at what he was doing, often startled by his sudden awareness of Prompto’s face hovering only inches in front of his own, holding his head steady by the ears and concentrating so deeply that he wasn’t breathing. ‘Intimidating’ didn’t quite describe the experience, but he could admit to some relief in knowing that Prompto was being very thorough. After all, Ignis would have accepted no less than his best work.

The adjustment took only a few moments, after which Ignis could hear the familiar sloshing of the spray bottle being shaken. “Okay, cover your face,” Prompto instructed him. “Don’t want to get this stuff in your eyes—”

His warning was abruptly cut off, and an awkward silence followed. Ignis supposed he’d have to get used to that — his friends’ pity. He’d soon tire of the way they walked on eggshells around him, avoiding even passing references to his eyes. But, for now, he could understand their trepidation. “It’s not a sensitive topic,” he assured his friend. “No need to tread so lightly.”

Prompto stammered a bit as he recovered. “S-Sorry. Anyway, here comes the spray.”

Ignis obediently covered his face, careful to shield his damaged skin as Prompto applied a liberal coating of spray to his hair. A few more swipes with the comb and a minor adjustment to a particularly stubborn lock that Ignis was certain Prompto corrected with saliva-covered fingers, and it was done — finishing touches and all. Ignis heard the soft clatter of the comb being laid on the counter and felt the breeze of Prompto’s body backing away for a better view of his handiwork. He held his breath, scarcely able to stand the wait for the verdict.

Finally, Prompto responded with audible enthusiasm. “Lookin’ good!”

Ignis released his breath, though unsure what he was really worried about. If he were to have trusted anyone with his hair, Prompto would have been his first choice on any day. Noct most certainly hadn’t touched a comb in his young life, and Gladio’s unruly mane was a different beast entirely. Still, Prompto’s approval was a welcome relief, and as he basked in it, Ignis almost didn’t notice the sound of a camera’s shudders closing. “Are you taking photos?”

Prompto took him by the chin and swiveled his head all around, very obviously snapping pictures from every angle. “Well I gotta document my art, don’t I?”

“So it looks acceptable?”

“You. Look. Fabulous,” Prompto confirmed cheerfully. “Ten out of ten.”

Ignis chuckled at that. He certainly didn’t feel like a perfect ten score at all. There was lingering pain all over his body — scars and bruises that would take some time to heal. It was a harrowing thought, wondering what he looked like now. He could feel the rough skin on his face, but could not see the extent of his disfigurement. Had his entire visage been ruined? Did he look like a hideous monster now? He remembered well the scars that Gladio wore so proudly, and questioned if he would ever learn to accept his own with the same confidence. But there would be time for addressing the more permanent effects of his injuries. For now, he chose to focus on the parts that would eventually return to normal. The parts that were temporary. Maintaining his appearance as if nothing had changed was but a small step on that long journey, and his heart filled with gratitude for the friend who had helped him take it.

He smiled, hoping that Prompto could comprehend the depth of his appreciation. “You have my thanks, Prompto.”

“Any time.”

He stood and made his way toward his nightstand for his glasses. There really was no point to wearing them now — even less so than there was before — but he couldn’t bring himself to go without. He felt awkward, perhaps even naked without them. He pressed the frames to the bridge of his nose, settling them into place as he turned back toward where he assumed he’d left Prompto. “I’d best be on my way, in case he wakes up.”

It took a moment to reorient himself and remember where the door was, and he moved quite slowly in that direction, glad to find his jacket hanging right where he’d left it, indicating that he was indeed memorizing this room already. It was a good sign for his recovery to know that he could mentally plot out his surroundings so perfectly, though he wasn’t sure if the same could be said for an area upon which he’d never laid eyes. Before he could find the doorknob, however, Prompto called out for him again.

“Wait, just a sec.”

Ignis halted in his tracks, sighing impatiently. “What is it now?”

The vibration in the floorboards amplified as Prompto rushed toward him. “Hold on, I’ll fix it.”

Before Ignis could respond, hands were on his chest, pulling open the buttons of his shirt. He stumbled backward, catching himself on the armoire as a warm flush spread across his cheeks. “What—? Prompto, what the hell are you—?”

“You had them all on the wrong ones!” Prompto insisted, tightening his grasp as Ignis tried to shove him off. “Let me straighten them out!”

It was necessary for Prompto to unbutton the entire shirt and start over from the top. When he understood what was happening, Ignis gave up the struggle, going completely slack and letting his head drop as Prompto re-clasped each button. A morning of small victories, and now _two_ defeats. All the uplifting thoughts and positive energy he’d absorbed in the past few minutes drained away as frustration took hold of him once more.

“Hey… what’s wrong?” Prompto asked him, his demeanor softening alongside his own. At first, Ignis couldn’t bring himself to answer. He’d expected some degree of shame. Some frustration, even a sense of hopelessness were all warranted, given his condition, but he was not prepared for them when they came. Perhaps now was when it ‘hit him’ that he was indeed disabled, and that try as he might to cling to hope for his eventual recovery, there was always the possibility that his blindness would be permanent. Seeing now just what such a prognosis would entail — requiring assistance for the simplest tasks, humbling himself before his friends, perhaps even being forced to resign his position as Hand of the King — was more than he could bear in the moment.

He inhaled heavily. “I was supposed to be Noct’s guardian. I was entrusted with his safety, and I vowed to protect him at all costs.”

“Well, it sounds like that’s exactly what you did.”

“Indeed…” Ignis sighed. “And now, I can’t even dress myself. I’m a helpless invalid.”

Prompto was quiet at first, but quick enough with his counter. “You’re not helpless. You’ll just have to get used to it, is all.”

“It’s not that simple, Prompto.”

“Why not?”

It was such a simple question, rooted in such simple logic that Ignis didn’t quite have an answer for it. Perhaps that was the point — to throw him off and force him to reevaluate his situation. For him, there was complexity and nuance to his new reality. There was _emotion_ to which he was not accustomed. His life of study, athleticism, and service had been reduced to one of incompetence and disgrace, clinging to walls and bannisters, groping about in the darkness like a frightened child. He could think of nothing more demoralizing, more shameful than to spend the rest of his days cowering before every step while his dignity lay in shards all around him. It was not simple, by any means. There was too much mess and confusion to speak on it with any semblance of refinement as he usually would. How could he even begin to parse it out? He could hardly articulate his thoughts for his own benefit, let alone explain it all to Prompto.

His silence did not go unaddressed. Prompto stepped back just enough, respecting Ignis’s emotional space, his inexplicable need to cope on his own terms. But he didn’t falter in his desire to offer support where it was so obviously needed. “Look… You gotta let us help you. It’ll be an adjustment, but you’re tough and you can do it,” Prompto said, maintaining an air of hopefulness as he went on. “With enough time and the right tools—”

“You forget, Prompto, that my vision might come back,” Ignis interrupted him. “Who can say that I won’t wake tomorrow in perfect condition?”

An awkward pause preceded Prompto’s hesitant response. “R-Right… Even better. So you’ll learn some useful skills now, and those skills will still be useful when your eyesight comes back. But for now… go easy on yourself.”

At the end of the day, Prompto didn’t deserve to be a target for Ignis’s frustration. He showed up with no pretense, just as a friend reaching out to a friend. He didn’t come in with crushing guilt like Gladio, treating him with uncharacteristic tenderness, only to sulk in shame when he thought Ignis couldn’t tell. Instead, Prompto was a blank slate. He arrived with uncertainty and an unbending willingness to help in any way that he could. He absorbed the angst and denial Ignis threw his way, offering himself up as just a listening ear with no endeavor to fix anything that wasn’t necessarily broken. He dispensed no unsolicited advice, no sermons or discourse, content to accept his role as a supportive companion and nothing more. Now, all he asked was that Ignis meet him halfway, and, with a resigned nod, Ignis returned for him the approval that he so desperately sought.

“Thank you, Prompto,” he said as he stood, once again making his way toward the door. “If you’re finished, I’m going to visit Noct.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Prompto—”

“At least let me walk you there.”

With no reason to fight him on this, Ignis obliged, allowing Prompto to lead him out into the hall with a light tug of his sleeve. The walk toward Noct’s room was slow, but it gave him time to count the steps and memorize the turns. Soon, he would be able to make this trek without assistance — he’d perhaps even find his own way back. He was just finishing up his mental notes when the pair arrived at their destination. There was a drawn-out creak as a door was opened and Ignis was gently ushered inside the room where the crown prince slept.

There was no question that Noct was in this room. The first thing Ignis noticed upon entering was his scent — something to which he’d not paid much attention before, but of which he was now keenly aware. Ignis was led to the bedside and guided into a chair — uncomfortably stiff, as if it were more for show than for sitting — and there he was left to wait in silence. At last, he’d reached him. Noct was there, tucked comfortably into the bed before him. For the next few moments, Ignis kept his distance, just listening to him breathe. Every inhale was even, slow, and unobstructed. Noct sounded restful, at least. Healthy. Relaxed. Ignis slumped backward in the chair as relief washed over him. There weren’t enough thanks in the world to convey his gratitude — to the Astrals, to the medical staff, to his friends — for ensuring that Noct was safe and cared for.

“Tell me how he looks.”

More silence followed his request, yet Prompto sounded optimistic when he finally answered. “He looks good, Ignis. He’s sleeping like a baby and he seems… peaceful.”

Noct certainly loved his sleep, and he deserved as much of it as he needed after everything he’d been through. Ignis was once again overcome with emotion, but in the interest of sparing Prompto the embarrassment, he only smiled, prepared to enjoy the respite at Noct’s side, however long it would take.

Prompto’s nervous feet hurried off toward the door. “Call if you need anything.”

A click of the latch and he was gone. Ignis was left alone with Noct and unsure what to do with the time he had. He sat in silence for several minutes, basking in the glorious sense of relief and accomplishment, just thrilled to feel the life emanating from his friend’s body. He longed to talk with him, to hear his voice. A sleepy moan, a disgruntled complaint about mornings, anything at all. But this would suffice. Knowing that Noct was alive and well was more than plenty.

Admittedly, part of Ignis dreaded the moment when Noct would wake. He would have questions, very important ones at that. He’d look to his royal retainer for answers, and the inevitable status update would commence. Sooner or later, Ignis would have to tell him that Lunafreya was dead. He’d practiced the announcement in his head many times while stuck in hospital, but sitting there in the prince’s presence, he suddenly found himself forgetting those words. And then, at some point, Noct would surely notice his injuries. He would learn the truth of his condition, and Ignis hadn’t the heart to tell him what he’d done — what he’d sacrificed to save his life.

“Noct… If you can hear me…” He could say it all now, knowing full well that his friend was not listening. He could spill the beans and absolve himself of a fraction of the guilt which plagued him. The sentences were already forming in his mind and his lips were prepared to speak. He took a breath, shaking with anticipation. “I’m here. That’s all…” he whispered, bowing his head in solemn defeat. “I’m here.”

Try as he did, he couldn’t go through with it. No meaningful expression of praise or admiration for Noct’s courage or strength. No warm affection or support as a friend should offer in his time of need. In fact, what Noct deserved from Ignis, above all else, was an apology. One for failing to reach him in time. One for his reckless actions at the altar. And several more for the countless times he would fail to protect him now that he’d become disabled. But there was no sense confessing his sins to a solid wall. Ignis would save all of that for later on, when Noct could hear it. For now, he would only remind his friend that he was there, waiting.

He reached for Noct’s hand, taking only moments to find it. When he did, he was pleasantly surprised to find it warm. The fingers twitched ever so slightly when he wrapped his own around them. Ignis wondered somewhat hopefully if perhaps he’d managed to jostle him awake. But there was no waver in his breathing, no movement shifting the mattress. The prince hadn’t stirred a bit, just as deep in slumber as when Ignis had arrived. Perhaps, he thought, Noct was dreaming. In his heart of hearts, he hoped those dreams were pleasant. He squeezed his friend’s hand very gently as he spoke to him again.

“Take your time,” he assured him. “I shall still be here when you wake.”

There was no answer, but Ignis was satisfied. He was a man who kept his promises. He promised to protect Noct, and he did. He promised to keep him safe, and he did. He promised to take care of him, and he did. This vow was no exception, and Ignis intended to follow through with the same dedication as the rest. In solidarity, he laid his head on the mattress, content to wait for that moment when the king — his best friend — would rise and greet him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven months in the making, I've finally done it! Welcome to the pain train, I hope you enjoy the ride! Next stop, Episode Two!!
> 
> I've come up with a new discord server! If you would like to join Ignis Thirsting Hours, here is a link! We'd love to have you <3 https://discord.gg/V76FS8EUKm
> 
> Peace and Love,  
> Ostelan


	2. Anger

_Noct,_

_I suppose some days are better than others. My training session with Gladio began the same as always, but I simply wasn’t at my best. I couldn’t predict his movements as well today, and my slow reaction time made it difficult to keep up with him. After several matches that ended in defeat, our session was cut short when I lost my footing and took a tumble off the platform, skinning my knee in the process. As stiff and sore as I am, it’s only my ego that’s been truly injured. I was so frustrated that I nearly broke my cane in half._

_The Marshal has been to visit a few times, always putting Gladio in a sour mood when he takes his leave. They speak in private and well out of my earshot, but I’m no fool. I know what they’re talking about. The days continue to grow shorter. Even I can tell how little light there is left. Energy is scarce, and the threat of daemons looms greater each night. It is becoming clear that we may lack the manpower required to protect the citizens of Lucis._

_It’s only a matter of time before we are called to fight. I pray that we’ll be ready when that day comes._

_Ignis Scientia_

* * *

Noct opened his eyes on the sixth day following the Sacred Rite with the Hydrean.

Ignis had kept his daily vigil at his bedside as promised, listening to him breathe, counting the heartbeats through the warm skin of his hand. For as long as he waited there, talking to him and praying that he would answer, the prince never stirred. He slept in silence, just as he always had, with neither a twitch nor a snore to disturb the stillness. In moments of frightening uncertainty, when he couldn’t bring himself to wonder for another second whether or not his dear friend would ever wake, Ignis could only hope that Noct’s slumber was peaceful.

The day he finally rose was every bit as disheartening as Ignis had expected. As he sat in the stiff chair in the lounge, his breath caught at the faint moans he heard from Noct’s bed. He called to him, willing that he might be answered as he shakily climbed to his feet. His first instinct, misguided as it was, was to hide his condition, and Ignis tried to walk as normally as possible as he turned to face him. The sudden silence that followed was what sealed for him the confirmation that Noct was indeed awake and aware. Ignis could feel the widened eyes glued to him, could sense the shock and the outrage. The pain of his guilt and the gripping shame clashed horribly with the elation he felt upon his dear friend’s awakening, knowing that his first emotion for him was not affection, but pity. That lingering, unpleasant aftertaste followed Ignis on every subsequent visit with the prince thereafter.

Three days following, the four set sail for Cape Caem. Although the Governor of Altissia was sympathetic to their plight, it was soon clear that the Royal Retinue had long overstayed their welcome. With the broken capital in the midst of reconstruction efforts, the hospitals flooded with wounded and the hotels overwhelmed with displaced refugees, the time had come to return to Lucis. For Ignis, the ride on the boat was quite disorienting, enough to induce his first ever bout of seasickness, though whether it was from his blindness or from allowing Gladio to drive was anyone’s guess. Regardless, he spent the majority of the trip hanging over the side of the boat, letting the mist cool his face until the tipping and rocking ceased and he could stagger onto dry land at last.

The days in Cape Caem were slow and dull, with the majority of his time spent idling outside until he could no longer stand the sweltering heat. Noct required space during his recovery — a process which involved a great deal of sleep — and Ignis reluctantly kept his distance, only visiting him a few times per day at maximum. As his lifestyle grew increasingly sedentary, so too did his mood. Gladio would invite him on a walk and he would decline. Prompto would propose a shopping trip and he’d pass. He was never one to just loaf around. There was always work to be done. But now, Ignis’s only job was to heal. To recuperate, and to adjust. He quickly became restless, longing for the mobility he had taken for granted, yet feeling far too lethargic to attain it.

One particularly late night, he lay beside Noct on his bed where he’d been for many hours already, babbling about anything that came to mind until the prince’s body went limp and his breaths slowed. A head fell to his shoulder, resting still as stone. Even knowing that his friend was out like a light, Ignis couldn’t bear to leave him. He chatted away as if Noct were still listening, simply enjoying his company for his own sake. He was explaining the delicate process of meringue construction and all the complicated science and technique therein when he heard the door open and a familiar, weighty presence entered the room.

“You talkin’ to yourself?”

That gruff voice could only belong to Gladio, likely having come to check on him. Ignis sat up in bed, careful not to jostle the mattress too much and lowering his own voice to prevent waking Noct. “I’m addressing an entire lecture hall,” he said indignantly. “You simply can’t see it.”

Gladio laughed softly as he made his steady approach. “Maybe it’s time to let your lecture hall sleep for tonight.”

Ignis was still reluctant to leave his side, but quickly relented. Noct needed his rest, and frankly, so did his retainer. He turned back only briefly, finding the prince’s shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. “Class dismissed.”

Gladio led the way back into the hall, carefully tugging the door closed behind them. Ignis had already parted from him and was feeling around in the darkness for the nearby handrail when hands found him again, directing his own. He hadn’t been far off — the handrail was mere inches from where his fingers had been reaching. A few more seconds and he’d have found it. He sighed, holding his tongue for the time being. It wouldn’t do to resent his friends for helping him. They meant well, and as sour as it tasted in his mouth, Ignis returned their gestures with gratitude every time.

“So,” Gladio inquired. “How’s His Highness doing?”

Ignis stole one last glance toward the room where Noct slept. “Noct is very weak, but he is recovering.”

He leaned heavily into Gladio’s arm as they made their perilous descent down the staircase. Although Ignis diligently counted each step, he couldn’t help but second-guess himself when he arrived at the landing and it was time to break away onto the flat wood floor. Part of him still feared that his foot would find only air when reaching for solid ground and that he’d tumble forward onto his face. Thankfully, he’d not done so. Yet.

Once he’d landed safely, he relaxed his grip, finding his own way to the sitting room and sinking into the sofa. Moments later, the cushions crunched beside him as Gladio joined. “And how about our Hand of the King?”

Ignis didn’t turn his head, answering flatly as he stared in the direction of the fireplace. “None the worse for wear.”

Gladio didn’t respond but for an almost inaudible exhalation through his nose. Ignis suspected that the man didn’t believe him. As was necessary for his duties, he had sharp senses, able to react quickly to any potential dangers and fling himself in front of them before they struck the king — or his retainer. That was his role as Shield, and he took it quite seriously. Very little got past him, and this moment was no exception. Ignis’s inner thoughts were no threat to Noct, but they would only harm himself if left to fester, and Gladio’s protective nature was already kicking into high gear in their presence.

“Perhaps a bit fatigued,” Ignis admitted before the man could prod him further. “I’ve been stagnant for far too long.”

“It’s only been two weeks. Recovery takes some time.”

Ignis sighed, forced to concede to Gladio’s logic. “Indeed… I suppose some patience is in order.”

They lounged together without a word spoken between them, the only sound in the room being the ticking clock on the wall. Ignis supposed that Gladio was waiting for him to retire to bed, knowing full well he’d need help every step of the way. From a guiding arm up the steps to the usual nightly washroom tour, Ignis was already exhausted just thinking about it. There was very little that he could do by himself now, but even when he had things under control, he’d be interrupted by the stifling presence of Gladio, stepping in uninvited to offer assistance that wasn’t requested. It was always the same, night after night. They would hardly make it into the bedroom before the man would be compelled to impose unnecessarily on his routine, lest he stab himself with his own toothbrush. Ignis had long since grown weary of the overwhelming multitude of helping hands that had been extended his way ever since the incident that cost him his sight. For Gladio to join the chorus in that regard was oftentimes more than he could stand.

Fully prepared to just fall asleep there on the sofa, Ignis yawned widely. “Could go for an Ebony…”

Gladio started to get up. “I’ll get you some.”

“No, Gladio,” Ignis insisted. “I don’t wish to be waited on.”

A slight pause, and then Gladio’s tone became a bit more indignant. “Get it yourself, then.”

Ignis did not budge from his spot, knowing full well that Gladio’s point had been made. And, Ignis supposed, it was probably for the best that he wouldn’t be having any coffee at such a late hour. He’d be up all night if he did. He crossed his arms, slumping deeply into the cushion with a slow exhale and letting the matter drop.

Gladio, however, was not yet finished with the topic. “It’s coffee, Iggy. It doesn’t have to be so serious.”

Ignis was now more than annoyed, bordering on genuinely angry with the man for his lack of sensitivity. “Do you know, Gladio, that I must be assisted in everything I do now?” he asked sharply. “My meals are prepared and brought to me. The morning paper is read to me. I am guided along every step I take and all of my needs are met without lifting a finger. Not one shred of my independence was spared. Just how would you feel in my position?”

His biting question was met with more silence. Instead of an answer, Gladio rose from the sofa and walked away. _Good riddance,_ Ignis thought. At last, he could have some space. Remorse set in rather immediately, however, when he heard those same footsteps on their way back. Had the man gone to retrieve the coffee after all? Ignis shrunk a little, feeling sheepish and slightly embarrassed with himself. He shouldn’t have been so harsh. Gladio hadn’t done anything wrong. Ignis wished that he’d held his tongue, been more patient. There was soon a shift in the air as he sensed Gladio’s presence, standing over him. A thin rod was placed into his hands — most certainly not a can of Ebony.

“What’s this?” he asked, inspecting the strange object with his fingers.

“It’s a cane,” Gladio answered him. “They gave it to us at the hospital in Altissia. It’ll help you walk.”

Utilizing its telescoping mechanism, Ignis extended the cane to its full length. It was light and balanced, very easy to wield. Its material was a smooth, brushed metal, intricately decorated with ornate carvings. On one end, a rubbery tip. On the other, a foam grip for his hand and a woven fabric wrist strap. It was certainly designed to be unobtrusive, an extension of his own sense of touch. This was what blind people used for eyes. A rod of metal and plastic with no awareness of texture or detail, no real ability to ‘see’ its surroundings. It was a glorified walking stick. A dead thing of little substance and no real use to Ignis. He rejected it outright.

“That’s absurd. I’ve no need for a cane.”

“I thought you wanted to regain your independence?”

“Certainly. But depending on a cane is no different from depending on people,” Ignis held the object at a distance as if repulsed by it. “I can manage just fine without.”

“Oh, really?” there was more than mere curiosity in Gladio’s voice. “Prove it, then. Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning. No canes necessary.”

“Alright,” Ignis agreed, all but jumping at the opportunity to make the man eat his words. “It’s settled.”

It was always a toss up between who would awaken first between Ignis and Gladio. Both enjoyed the serenity of dawn, and both had their morning rituals to uphold. Lately, however, Ignis preferred to take his time in rising for the day. Recovering from the injuries demanded more energy than he could spare, and no one questioned him when he simply hadn’t the spirit to get out of bed at all. The respite was no mere indulgence anyhow. But, the morning after his conversation with Gladio could not have come early enough. Ignis lay awake for much of the night, his thoughts too restless to let him sleep any longer than an hour or two. He raced through his morning routine, having risen to find the man already gone. He was just throwing on his jacket when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Iggy, it’s me. Are you up?”

It was Gladio, having come to retrieve him. Ignis bit back any expression of annoyance, having remembered quite well that they’d agreed to meet downstairs. He guessed that Gladio simply didn’t trust him to take the stairs alone, and if he were quite honest with himself, he couldn’t blame the man. “Come in, Gladio.”

The door opened, and Gladio’s heavy footsteps crossed the threshold. “‘Mornin’. You ready to go?”

“Indeed, I am.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Gladio spoke again. “Uh… Is that what you’re gonna wear?”

Ignis reflexively glanced down at himself, puzzled by the reaction to his attire. He’d been instructed to wear something comfortable, something in which he could move freely. The instruction was rather baffling to Ignis, who could comfortably move in just about anything. In the end, whether out of habit or out of defiance, he showed up in his full crownsguard fatigues.

“You were expecting something different?” he said shortly. “Would you prefer that I wear a dress?”

Gladio chuckled softly. “Hey, if you’re comfortable, I’m comfortable. Let’s go.”

The first hurdle, descending the staircase, would have been a chore with or without the cane. Ignis clung tightly to the rail with both hands as he slowly brought his feet down to each step. Gladio, who had implied to lead with his voice, was infuriatingly silent for the entire trek, and Ignis couldn’t help but wonder if the man was internally laughing at him. It took several minutes before he was certain that he’d reached solid ground, even sliding his foot around to ensure there were no more steps. Keeping his hands extended in front of him as he shuffled about like the reanimated dead, he eventually made it out the door and into the front yard.

“You did it!” Gladio congratulated him cheerfully. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Of course not,” Ignis grumbled. “A ‘piece of cake,’ I daresay.”

Gladio giggled as he approached to take Ignis by the elbow. “I promise there won’t be any stairs on our walk today.”

“If I may ask, where exactly will we be going?”

“Just around the block or so,” he answered. “Little nature hike. Nothin’ like the great outdoors to lift your spirits, eh?”

Ignis arched an eyebrow at the suggestion. “Feeling a bit downcast are we, Gladio?”

Irritability was contagious, but Gladio almost seemed completely unfazed, not missing a beat before snapping back. “Only around you, sunshine. Now quit bein’ a sourpuss and let’s go,” his voice began to trail as he turned and headed down the path leading to the main highway. “And try to keep up.”

Ignis huffed and followed where the words seemed to leave off. He could hear Gladio’s signature heavy footsteps crunching the gravel beneath his feet, guiding him on the winding trail until they’d finally reached the smooth pavement of the highway.

“Okay, Iggy,” Gladio’s hand found Ignis’ shoulder as he gave his first instruction. “Take off your shoes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“We’re doing this barefoot,” he explained. “Don’t worry, I already checked the whole route for sticker burrs, and it’s still early enough that the pavement here isn’t hot.”

“Dare I ask _why_ we are walking barefoot?”

“It’ll help you see better,” Gladio’s answer was deliberately vague and a bit smart. Ignis might have clocked him if he could have seen where he was. Apparently aware of his partner’s silent fuming, Gladio’s voice softened some as he gave a more acceptable explanation. “It’s so you can feel the different textures of the ground. So you can keep track of where you are.”

Too tired to argue with him, Ignis slipped off his shoes and handed them over with a short sigh. “If I step on a rock, you’re carrying me back.”

“It’s a deal,” Gladio giggled, then took a few steps ahead before giving his next instruction. “This is solid asphalt. We’re just gonna walk in a straight line. Think you can handle it?”

 _A straight line?_ It was so simple that Ignis had to wonder just what was the catch. “Easy enough. Onward, then.”

“Here we go.”

Gladio gave Ignis a good long while to familiarize himself with the smoothness of the road. As level as it was, the straight line was much more difficult to maintain than he’d predicted at first. He concentrated deeply on placing one foot carefully in front of the other, mindful that his toes pointed straight ahead each time, yet still he stopped short whenever his companion’s voice warned that his angle was drifting again. It took several minutes and some adjustments to his footing, but Ignis did eventually manage to even out his trajectory, a feat for which he was lauded by his friend. Although he was loath to accept praise for something so simple as walking, he supposed he’d mark the occasion down as another small victory for the day in the interest of keeping a positive outlook.

The pair walked for nearly an hour together along the empty freeway. They shared small pleasantries as they went, with Gladio always quick to correct him if he strayed off-course. There were a fair few moments when the conversation fell silent and Ignis sensed Gladio’s desire to deepen the subject matter, but he never did speak up, instead commenting on the mild weather for the fourth, fifth, even tenth time. Ignis didn’t press him, preferring to focus on the sound of the late morning breeze as he carried on against the wind. It wasn’t abrasive, not strong enough to whistle or sing, but to just blow softly against his skin. A cooling breath that brought the scents of earth and sea along with it. Ignis was soothed by the touch of its wispy fingers, welcoming the glimmer of calm as he followed briskly where they beckoned.

The sun climbed ever higher as one hour bled into the next, the heat rising until their shirts were sticking to their backs with sweat. Their pace was kept rather leisurely for Ignis’s sake, although after a while it began to feel slow even for him. The curves in the road were so wide that he hardly noticed them, and they hadn’t encountered so much as a pebble along the entire route. Walking without sight was indeed a challenge, but a straight path with no bends or obstacles was not only unrealistic for the lifestyle Ignis was accustomed to, it was downright boring for what Gladio had described as a ‘nature hike.’ Rather than speak up in protest, however, Ignis followed his voice diligently for every step, only allowing a breath of panic when the man led him off the highway and into a patch of grass.

“Gladio?” he gasped. “Where are we?”

“I said it’s a nature hike,” Gladio answered from some distance away. “Scared of a little grass?”

 _Be careful what you wish for, Scientia._ “You’re quite sure you checked these patches thoroughly for any sharp flora that—?”

“You’re such a wuss,” Gladio sneered playfully. “Now, come on. Follow me.”

Ignis had to strain his ears to concentrate on the direction of his partner’s voice, and when Gladio stopped talking, he was sure he’d been left behind. But, every time he froze, searching the environment for even the slightest hint of movement, Gladio always turned up right beside him. Grass was much softer and easier on his feet than asphalt, at the very least, although the path he was to take through it was much more winding than the straight and narrow with which he’d grown comfortable. He proceeded hands first in every direction, his fingers grazing against rough tree trunks and sharp leaves. Twigs snapped under his heels and pebbles lodged between his toes. The air was cooler, as if the sun were blocked by a canopy of treetops overhead. Ignis could only conclude that Gladio had brought him into a forest, and silently prayed that they’d meet no woodland fauna or any other such wildlife along the way.

When they finally reached another smooth surface — a sturdy, flat rock that felt oddly warm on his skin, Gladio announced the end of their hike. “Alright, Iggy, this is as far out as we’ll go today. Can you tell what you’re standing on?”

“Stone,” Ignis answered. “A haven, perhaps?”

“That’s right,” Gladio affirmed. “Now, lead us back.”

Ignis sputtered. “What? Me?”

“Yeah,” Gladio’s answer was nonchalant, and Ignis could hear the shrug in his shoulders. “It’s easy. Just get us out of the forest and back to the highway, then it’s a straight shot back to Cape Caem.”

 _Easy?_ “You really think that’s wise?” Ignis argued. “Trusting a blind man to guide you safely home?”

“Ya know,” Gladio said thoughtfully, as if coming to a sudden realization. “I do think it’s wise. Funny you should ask. Anyway, I already came out here early this morning and cleared out all the hostiles, so we’re perfectly safe. Unless you think the trees are gonna hurt you.”

He mercifully placed his hands on Ignis’s shoulders and turned his body until it faced what was assumed to be the path back out of the woods. “If you can make it back to the highway, I’ll give you your shoes back.”

Ignis had never felt more blind than when Gladio’s voice went silent and his footsteps halted. At first, he didn’t move a muscle, willing that he could just sense the trees with some previously-dormant intuition that might have awakened right when he needed it most. He reached all around him, praying that his fingers might make contact with something, _anything_. Surrounded only by blank space, he shivered against the uncomfortable sensation of being exposed, as if naked before a crowd of thousands. He could feel the disapproving eyes of the forest watching him, could hear the judgments whispered between rustling leaves overhead. Spectators, looming out in the darkness, seeking fault in his performance before he’d even begun.

He took one step, then another, slowly climbing down from the rocky haven and back onto the forest bed where his search was to begin. Having already lost track of the orientation upon which Gladio had set him, Ignis traipsed through the dense woods in whatever direction was most clear, taking as many mental notes as he could feasibly remember and trying to plot out a map in his head. He stumbled around for what felt like hours, but no matter how familiar the tree bark felt on his fingertips, or the shapes of the roots beneath his feet, he couldn’t find his way out of the forest. He’d been leading the pair in circles, brushing against the same foliage, swatting away the same insects, and retracing his own damn footprints in the soil. He was lost. Hopelessly lost.

“You’ve made your point, Gladio,” Ignis grumbled. “I can’t do this on my own. I hereby admit that I will require some assistance.”

“Oh?” Gladio asked pointedly. “You think if you had the cane, you might be able to do it?”

Once again, he’d been argued into a corner. Ignis said nothing, only crossing his arms in defiance, to which Gladio continued his lecture. “I didn’t say it was gonna be easy. You gotta learn to work with what you’ve got. I won’t always be there to hold your hand.”

“I know that,” Ignis blurted in exasperation. “But don’t you think this is a bit much on the first outing?”

There was a knowing tilt to Gladio’s response. “Is it?”

Ignis huffed sharply, through with playing the man’s games. Gladio wasn’t much for subtlety. His message couldn’t have been more obvious, and Ignis quickly tired of being beaten over the head with it. It was readily apparent that adjusting to sudden blindness was a journey — a physical one and an emotional one. That much was a given. But in the moment, while stuck in a humid forest, feet sore and skin itching from sweat and bugs, Ignis didn’t have the patience for either. He couldn’t blame Gladio for taking on the role he had — acting as a life coach and attempting to impart wisdom and motivation, but if ever there was a time to forego a learning opportunity or a moment of personal growth, now was that time.

Once Gladio had set him in the proper direction once more, he set off without hesitation, stepping with more conviction now as he made his way toward what he hoped was the edge of the forest. Gladio followed closely beside him, only muttering a correction here and there if they strayed too far. At last, Ignis could feel the warm sun on his brow again. They’d made it out of the woods, and he was comfortable enough to walk the straight line to the highway, knowing there would only be soft, unobstructed grass leading to the pavement. But after several moments, he began to notice that the grass was not changing into warm asphalt like he was expecting. He couldn’t hear the distant sounds of traffic, and he couldn’t detect the faint smell of vehicle exhaust. They were certainly out of the forest, but the highway was nowhere to be found.

“Gladio, you tricked me,” Ignis seethed. “This isn’t the freeway.”

Gladio snickered. “Hey, I wasn’t the one in the lead.”

The sound of laughter in Gladio’s voice made the situation all the more infuriating. Ignis fumed, hardly able to contain himself. “Where the hell are we now?”

“It’s a wide, empty meadow on the other side of the forest. Once we cross, we’ll be back to the road,” his words grew sheepish as he added a small caveat. “Albeit a mile and a half out of the way…”

“A mile and a half?” Ignis balked. “At this rate, it’ll be supper time before we get back.”

“Well then,” Gladio smirked mischievously. “Race ya.”

Before Ignis could respond, Gladio took off. The last thing he heard were the man’s heavy footsteps bolting into the distance and his childish giggling as it faded out of earshot.

“You’re a bastard, Gladio!”

“A bastard who’s winning!”

Ignis had to admit that although the very prospect of two grown men frolicking in the wilderness like a couple of naive boys was preposterous, at the same time, it was tempting. When was the last time he’d had any fun? When was the last time he and Gladio had a friendly sparring match together? Harmless bouts where it didn’t matter who won or who lost? Ignis could not help but wonder if he would ever learn to fight again, or if perhaps those days were gone forever. If anyone would have the ability and the patience to teach him, Gladio would be that man. This little game may well be the first step, the first test. Ignis supposed that he would have to trust him. He would have to relinquish control and trust that Gladio knew what he was doing, that he would not lead him to failure. Perhaps it would be a hopeless endeavor. Perhaps it would be a waste of time. But, for now, Gladio was several meters ahead, and if Ignis had any hope of upsetting this particular match, then he had no choice but to give chase. If it was a race the man wanted, then a race he would get. Ignis wasn’t about to lose to the likes of Gladio.

If nothing else, he could at least follow the sound of Gladio’s laughter as they ran through what was thankfully an open field. The grass was a bit more sharp and coarse, as if it were dehydrated and dying, and it crackled beneath his feet as he ran. Gladio kept a fair distance ahead, giving Ignis plenty of time to adjust his path whenever the direction was changed, and after some time, he had to admit that a blind run through the meadow was somewhat exhilarating. He could feel the sun beating on his face just as it had so many times before, and he knew by instinct alone that it was a cloudless day. The air was light and fresh as he huffed and panted breathlessly, and he could just barely catch the aroma of salt from the nearby cape. Gladio’s new route was bolder by the second, taking more twists and detours, gliding over tougher, rocky terrain, and even leading them both on a short climb. Their slow jog gradually increased to a full sprint as Ignis gained confidence in his steps, and at last he was catching up to Gladio’s enthusiastic calls when he felt the ground disappear beneath him, having nearly walked off the edge of a cliff to his death.

Gladio must have warped to his side for how quickly he appeared to catch him just before he fell, closing his strong arms tightly around Ignis’ thin frame and dragging him back to the safety of the grassy, open meadow. “It’s okay, Iggy. I’ve got you.”

“Where were you?!”

“I’m right here,” Gladio answered softly. “I caught you and you didn’t fall. You’re fine.”

“No, Gladio! Where were you?!” Ignis shouted almost hysterically. “When I needed you… When Noct needed you, where the bloody hell were you?!”

Likely lost for words, Gladio didn’t answer, giving Ignis the room to continue with his sudden outburst. “You weren’t there… I waited for you and you didn’t come! I fought Ravus, I fought the chancellor, I fought the whole damned empire! _All alone!_ And when I finally found Noct lying motionless at the altar, I thought I was too late…”

Ignis was trembling violently, even more so than he had on that day. The memory of that helplessness, that overwhelming terror flooded back to his consciousness. His words wavered as he went back over the images, retelling his account for Gladio, whether he was listening or not. “The sight of Ardyn’s blade at his throat… will haunt me as one of the last images I ever saw. I’d never been more afraid in my life. I didn’t know what else to do…!”

He should have stopped when he felt the stinging at the corners of his eyes — hot tears forming behind his closed lids. He hadn’t shed a single one since that day, and in fact he often wondered if he still could at all. Now, as the impulse arose in him, he bit it back. It was too early to cry. He was too furious to cry. “I was ready to die for him! So where were you, Gladio? Why weren’t you there to protect him? You are his Shield, are you not? _Where were you?!”_

Anger and rage were unbecoming, Ignis had always thought. To lose one’s temper was a weakness of will, a failure in the art of professionalism and restraint. He took pride in his composure, in his mastery of control such that he’d always kept a cool head in even the worst of circumstances. To see it all crumble now was more than shocking, it was shameful and humiliating. Disgraceful, and even frightening. But more so than to lose control of his words, Ignis loathed that even his thoughts had strayed from his grasp. Idle as they may have been, such despicable fantasies had tainted his once clean mind — wishing that he’d met his demise in Altissia, finding death a welcome alternative to blindness. Questioning why _Gladio_ had not been crippled instead, holding that _it should have been him._ Sickening, deplorable thoughts, and Ignis could no more control them than the anger that now boiled in his veins.

To let himself fume was a humbling experience, one which he’d never granted himself in all his years. He’d seen his friends succumb to the same impulse more times than he could count, and in every instance, he’d acted as the voice of reason. A tactician in every meaning of the word, he lent his strength of mind wherever it was needed, always a calming presence to ease the tension before it snapped. Even in the face of his enemies he reprised his role, opposing men like Ravus with only the intent to de-escalate, rather than to overpower.

Ignis all at once truly and fully understood how the poor man felt. Stricken with grief and anger, so overwhelmed by his emotions that all rationality fled from his senses. He now lashed out in just the same manner, swinging just as blindly and without a care for whom he struck. Gladio could have dropped him and walked away at any moment, and he’d have been well within his right to do so. But in spite of the harsh scolding he was getting, he didn’t let go of Ignis for a second. If anything, he tightened his grasp, and Ignis had to admit that he found some comfort in that. “One hasty decision… and the whole world went dark,” he swallowed hard, letting his head drop in despair. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him… and in that moment of fear and desperation, my judgment faltered.”

Some tactician he was, when all he could do in the middle of a crisis was panic and flail. Then, to take one foolish leap of faith that cost him his own eyes. Ravus was right — it _was_ reckless. The shame that crept up on him now was well-deserved, and rather than try to fight his way out of it, Ignis could only let himself sink, lest it drown him faster like the quicksand that it was.

Gladio was mercifully silent for a long beat following the outburst. For a moment, he wondered if the man was going to say anything at all, but wouldn’t have blamed him if he chose not to speak. Ignis knew that his accusations were biting and unfair, his anger misplaced and irrational, but if anyone was sturdy enough to absorb the impact, Gladio was that person. And, like the sturdy man that he was, Gladio finally responded tersely with his arms crossed, showing no emotion toward any of Ignis’s hurtful words.

“Are you done?”

Ignis stuttered slightly, taken aback by the reply. “I-I…”

“Are you done moping? Are you done brooding and angsting? Are you ready to move on yet?”

Ignis couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What…?”

“So you’re blind now. Big whoop. Time to get used to it,” he scoffed bitterly. “Life’s a bitch, Iggy. People get hurt all the time. Lots are worse off than you. Are you gonna be the guy who lets himself be defeated by something like this, or are you the one who will overcome it?”

There were no words Ignis could have said to convey his surprise. It was no great shock that Gladio would react so coldly, and Ignis appreciated the way his commanding presence could serve to ground him when he needed it. But he had no answer to the man’s question, and was silenced by the challenge.

Gladio sighed and laid his hands over his shoulders. “Whether you can see or not, Noct still needs you,” he continued in an almost pleading tone. “You’re the Hand of the King. If you want to help him, then you gotta quit beating yourself up over this and get on with your life. No more whining. No more self-loathing. Let it go, and get to work.”

There was much to take away from this outing with Gladio, enough that Ignis could spend the rest of the week reflecting. There was a time and a place to be weak and vulnerable — to fear the unknown, to regret one’s mistakes, and to hover stagnantly, wallowing in self-pity. And then, there was a time to be strong, to push onward and overcome any obstacles. Fate would decide which was which, and Ignis considered that perhaps now was not the time to stand still, but to stand and fight. Ravus had said that he had a calling to fulfill. That they both did. Ignis was still the Hand of the King, and none of the events that had transpired could change that. He still had a duty to protect Noct, eyes or no eyes. He had no choice but to carry on in spite of his blindness. He just didn’t know how.

He did not give Gladio an answer, and he probably didn’t need to. The silence spoke volumes on his behalf, and it was clear that the conversation was finished. He soon noticed that the sun was beating down quite harshly, as if it were nearing midday, and wondered just how long they’d been out.

“Noct will be waking soon,” he said quietly. “I must get back to him.”

There was a light, almost hesitant brush in the small of his back as Gladio’s hand gently pressed him along. “I’ll take you back. Just follow me.”

“I thought I was supposed to be overcoming my disability?” Ignis queried. “Wasn’t today’s lesson about triumph over hardship, accepting my condition, regaining my independence?”

“Nah,” Gladio answered. “Today’s lesson was ‘baby steps.’”

When Ignis, clearly having lost the point, didn’t say anything, Gladio elaborated. “All that stuff you just listed takes time. Recovery, readjustment, rehabilitation — it’s a slow process. You gotta take it one step at a time. And,” he gave Ignis’s shoulder a squeeze as he made his final appeal. “You can’t do it alone. Sometimes, you gotta lean on your friends. _That’s_ what today’s exercise was all about.”

They hardly talked at all on the walk back, and Ignis was so drained that he couldn’t even think for most of the trip. It was a bit refreshing, if not unsettling, to have his mind be entirely blank for a short while, although he was quite aware of how poor company he was in such a state. In no time, they’d reached Caem, and he turned to face his companion as they made their slow ascent of the gravelly path to the house.

“Thank you, Gladio,” he dropped his head, relieved. “Your lesson was… enlightening.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They arrived at the house where Ignis could hear the cheerful laughter of Prompto and Talcott playing in the field down the hill. The brief silence seemed to signal the end of their outing, but Gladio had some closing remarks of his own to make before they parted ways.

“And for the record,” he spoke more softly than Ignis had ever heard him, sounding rather solemn by comparison to his usual gruff timbre. “I got there as quick as I could.” He paused to release a shuddering sigh, and Ignis could have sworn he heard a break in his voice. “I’m sorry it wasn’t fast enough.”

He took Ignis’s wrist one last time and closed his fingers around a familiar, metal object — the cane. There were many things Ignis wished he would have said then. He should have apologized. He should have told Gladio that he’d never been more relieved to hear the man’s voice as he came to his rescue that day. That as he was lying on the wet stone of the altar, newly blinded, soaked to the bone and freezing, clinging fiercely to consciousness as the rain fell on his face, Ignis felt perfectly safe the moment he heard Gladio calling his name. He was relieved, and deeply grateful, not just for his own sake, but for Noct’s as well. He could have said as much — should have said as much, but Gladio had already walked away, disappearing inside the house where Ignis dared not follow him.

A cloud slid by overhead and blotted out the sunlight. Tomorrow, it would rain. Ignis could smell it in the air. He remembered quite well how it poured on that day in Altissia. How fitting, he thought, that the last sky he ever saw was a stormy one. But negative ideation like that was unbecoming, and he put those thoughts from his mind. He hadn’t the room in his heart to dread the thought of a few showers. A dreary afternoon of overcast skies and soggy ground no longer affected him in the same way, and he had to accept that. The sky could be a bright, vibrant blue, or a darkened, steely gray, and it would make no difference to him. It was just as well, he supposed. With all that he’d been through, the last thing he needed was for the weather to dampen his spirits as well.

He extended the cane to its full length and dropped its tip to the ground, swishing it back and forth to scan for obstacles in his vicinity. He figured he should visit Noct as promised, if only just to check in. But, in his exhaustion, he lacked the motivation to drag himself up those stairs again. Instead, he shut himself in the sitting room, too despondent to try and guess who was in the kitchen washing dishes or to ask them for an Ebony. He needed some peace, some time with his thoughts. Like Gladio, all Ignis desired for the moment was to be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've come up with a new discord server! If you would like to join Ignis Thirsting Hours, here is a link! We'd love to have you ❤️ discord.gg/V76FS8EUKm
> 
> Peace and Love,  
> Ostelan


	3. Bargaining

_Noct,_

_Things are quiet with Prompto gone. He calls when he can, but the gaps between those check-ins grow larger with each one. Still, he always sounds happy, and I can’t resent that for an instant. His cheerful voice never fails to lift my spirits._

_We’ve left Cape Caem. The daemons have all but taken over and we simply aren’t equipped to continue fending them off. I defeated a bussemand just the other day_ — _a personal victory for me, but it was the final straw for Gladio and the rest. The Cape is abandoned now, with power cut off indefinitely. I only hope that we can one day return. I shall miss that refreshing sea breeze._

_We visited Lestallum for a bit while planning our next move. Refugees seem dispirited, but we did meet some of the new Glaives. They’re a sturdy bunch, well worthy of their title. Some day, I might like to spar with them. I’m getting too familiar with Gladio’s fighting style already. The Marshal has invited me to take him on at any time, but I’m not yet ready to face him. When I do meet him in battle, I’d like to be at my best._

_We’re going back to Leide where the air is cooler. The thought alone brings back fond memories from early on in our journey together. It won’t be the same without half our retinue, and I’m afraid no car can ever match the Regalia, but I have high hopes that this change will be a positive one. We’ll be closer to the Crown City, closer to the Quay. Besides, we haven’t spoken to Cindy in ages._

_Talcott seems a bit downcast over our departure, and I confess that I will miss him as well. Perhaps I’ll start writing letters to him, too._

_Ignis Scientia_

* * *

“Well, Mr. Scientia, you look better and better every time I see you.”

The hospital was much too bright, even for Ignis. The overbearing fluorescent glow of the overhead lighting was unmistakable, and just as grating on the senses. The crisp, dry air and oddly clinical smell burned his nostrils like a toxic, chemical vapor. The clean environment carried a fragile sort of uneasiness, as if he were unwittingly leaving a new colony of bacteria upon every surface he touched, contaminating the entire facility in seconds. Ignis hated the place more and more each time he returned for another examination, only making the twice-weekly journey out of eagerness to hear how his recovery was progressing. He sat on the cold, metal table, submitting to test after test with due obedience, answering all of the doctor’s questions, only to leave disappointed that he’d not miraculously earned back his sight through sheer willpower and good deeds.

His doctor, supposedly the best in all of Accordo, was a man whose face he’d never seen — an experience altogether unique for Ignis, requiring that he build a face for him in his imagination with only his voice as a reference. He was a kind man, and one could only assume that he had an appearance to match. He sounded older, very wise and accommodating. Perhaps he had some wrinkles around his eyes, not just from the fatigue that paired with a career in medicine, but from several decades of warm smiles, putting his patients at ease with his spectacular bedside manner. A pleasant, but generally unremarkable appearance to complement a pleasant, but generally unremarkable personality. Ignis could relate. Perhaps the man wore glasses as well.

“I could say the same for you, Doctor,” he answered dryly. “But what of the injuries?”

The doctor let out a genuine laugh. “They look good, too. The skin is healing very nicely and the eyes themselves are showing dramatic improvement. I even see a few of your eyebrows coming back.”

The sound of a pen scratching on paper followed as the doctor took down some notes. Ignis listened intently, waiting for him to go on with his evaluation, “Splendid,” he said, impatient to hear the gritty details. “Then, what is the prognosis?”

“Prognosis?” the doctor asked somewhat incredulously. “Golly gee, I think you’re going to live.”

“But will I be able to see?”

As expected, the doctor hesitated with his reply. Ignis could hear the cringe in his voice and was already preparing for the worst. “It’s… still quite early. I don’t expect much change in that regard. Not yet, anyway.”

Even if it was the answer he expected, it wasn’t the answer he wanted. Ignis sighed heavily, and the doctor continued in the same cautious tone. “It’s been a challenge for you.”

Ignis clenched his jaw. “A bit of an understatement, Doctor.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up,” the man said reluctantly. “The damage is extensive, and much of it will likely be permanent. If you do regain any of your eyesight, it will still be heavily impaired.”

Neither did Ignis want to be too optimistic in the face of such poor odds. But to hear the doctor confirm just how bad the best-case scenario would be, he dropped his head. “Then… I will always be blind.”

The doctor’s answer was a bit flat, almost emotionless. “Legally, yes. Medically, yes. Practically, it’s up to your own interpretation.”

His own interpretation? An interesting approach, in Ignis’s opinion. It wasn’t so much that he doubted his ability to become a high-functioning individual without eyesight. Hundreds across Eos managed it every day. But Ignis, by birth, was well beyond a high-functioning individual, and held himself to a much higher standard. His royal duty, _his life’s work,_ was to serve the king. To protect him with every faculty under his command. The least of his expectations were cooking and driving, and the most of which was to fight with everything he had, to lay down his life if necessary. Who would trust a blind man to throw daggers and swing polearms? To cook a meal, to drive a car? To care for a king?

Ignis considered himself, above all else, an expert tactician. He’d strategized the group out of many a harrowing bind, but when it truly came down to the wire, he’d failed. He’d bought Noct’s safety at the cost of his own eyes. Not in a gamble, but in a fair transaction, Ignis had sacrificed his own vision, that Noct might live. Yet, despite his doubts, he was still welcome to join the royal retinue on their journey, provided he could keep up. With that goal in mind, Ignis was determined to recover as quickly as possible, even if it meant taking a glance outside the realm of conventional medicine. After all, he’d already lost his sight. How much worse could it really get for him now?

“Doctor,” he asked with the last shreds of hopefulness he could muster. “What are my options?”

The doctor’s tone became a bit more stern. “Alternative medicine is both risky and expensive. I can’t in good conscience recommend—”

“Never mind the cost,” Ignis cut in. “And I’ll gladly accept the risk. Please, tell me what I can do.”

The next sound he heard was a stool being dragged across the floor, followed by the doctor lowering onto his seat with a heavy slump. “If you were hoping for surgical correction, I’m afraid it won’t work on you. If you were hoping for some experimental miracle, there isn’t one. Blindness cannot be cured. I’m sorry.”

Ignis would have guessed that perhaps this doctor, with his mild and compassionate nature, wouldn’t know what to do with such a stubborn patient, and perhaps would lack the fortitude to be blunt when necessary. About that, he was quite wrong. This doctor knew exactly how to respond, meeting Ignis’s denial and his misguided bargaining with the harsh truths of reality that he didn’t want to face. But like any good and caring physician, he chased the bitter medicine with a spoonful of sugar, offering up a more palatable appeal in a gentler and more understanding tone.

“I would like to recommend that you talk to someone. We have several therapists who specialize in visual impairment and—”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Ignis interrupted the moment he knew where the man was going with this. “But, I’m quite stable, emotionally. I don’t require a counselor.”

“It’s not just counseling. These are trained physicians who will help you learn how to regain your mobility without sight. You might even be able to do away with the cane, eventually.”

Ignis and his cane had come to an understanding. He accepted it as a tool, necessary to use on a temporary basis, just until he got his eyesight back. He could be as angry as he liked about his condition, but it would have been wasted on an inanimate object, so he decided to simply learn to integrate it into his life. He was still slow, still on the clumsy side when he walked, but as he practiced with it on his hikes with Gladio, he had to admit that it was an invaluable mobility aid. One which he still resented, but no longer loathed.

The doctor leaned against the table. “This is no different from losing a limb, Ignis. The recovery, the adjustment period, the grief… it’s no less painful. My professional advice is to be patient with yourself, and take all the help you can get.”

Ignis reflected silently for a moment. The necessity to accept every helping hand extended his way was a message he’d heard almost constantly for the past few weeks. By his own personal assessment, Ignis had improved in following that advice by leaps and bounds in the short time he’d spent practicing it. However, this was the first he’d ever heard the term ‘grief’ used to describe this stage in his life. He hadn’t considered assigning such a label to his sudden loss of vision. After all, no one had perished, and it was in fact _because_ of his sacrifice that there were no deaths to mourn. But thinking back over those struggles, he wondered if perhaps inside his heart there was grief, unaddressed and festering, eating away at him until there would be nothing left to heal. Maybe he ought to see a counselor after all, if only to slow the damage to his spirit.

But there wasn’t time for that. If he wanted to accompany Noct for the rest of his journey, he couldn’t be stuck doing healing circles and motivational exercises in Altissia. Grief, if that’s truly what it was, would have to wait. “Your advice is invaluable. I do appreciate it, Doctor,” he said, reaching for his jacket. “I will take your suggestions under consideration.”

“Of course,” the doctor answered, sounding a bit defeated. “There’s no wrong way to go about this. How you heal is your business. I’m here to provide resources whenever you need them.”

“You have my thanks,” Ignis slid down from the table and made his way toward the door. “Until next week, then.”

“Take care.”

Ignis couldn’t place why he’d felt the need to hurry out of his appointment and get as far away from that hospital as possible. The conversation with the doctor and the revelations therein left him feeling strangely uneasy, and he sought only to push all of it from his mind and get on with his day. He quickly found Dustin waiting for him in the lobby, ready to take him back to the port so that they could set sail for Lucis. The waters were calm and the weather was mild, making the trip at least an easy one.

The boat began to slow as they approached the harbor at Caem. “Thank you, Dustin, for the ride. I’m sure you had better things to do than cart me around all afternoon.”

Dustin’s reply was as cordial as ever. “It was no trouble at all. In fact, I quite enjoyed the visit to Altissia.”

Ignis hadn’t really thought about whether or not he’d miss driving. It was a relaxing practice, but not necessarily one to which he’d developed any sort of attachment. The only real downside was this very instance — having to ask someone else to transport him somewhere when he could no longer do so himself. Thankfully, Dustin appeared at exactly the right time, just as Ignis was battling with whether he ought to swallow his pride and interrupt Gladio and Prompto from their planned activities for the day. He stepped in to offer assistance without even being asked, allowing Ignis to retain his dignity while accepting the help he so obviously needed.

“Prompto and Gladio are down by the water with Talcott,” Dustin continued as he helped Ignis off the wobbly vessel and back onto the sturdy dock. “Shall I take you there?”

Ignis, slightly nauseated and still searching for his land legs, declined. The prospect of descending the hill to the coastline in such a state was slightly unnerving, and he’d used up more than enough of Dustin’s generous assistance for one day. “No, thank you. I’m eager to get back to Noct.”

“I see,” Dustin said as he led Ignis into the lift. “If I might make a suggestion, Iris is tasked with preparing dinner tonight since Monica is out. Perhaps you’d like to join her?”

The suggestion caught Ignis off-guard, so much so that it was difficult not to stammer as he answered. “I’m… not sure how useful I could be.”

Dustin hummed thoughtfully. “There are no small roles. I’m sure she could put you to work somehow.”

Ignis was silent after that, and Dustin did not press him. They’d soon made it to the entrance and were heading for the house when he heard the sound of cheerful footsteps bouncing up to greet them. “Hi Dustin! Oh, Ignis. How are you feeling?”

It was Iris who had come. Ignis smiled as he returned her salutations. “Better than yesterday.”

“Well, that’s progress!” she bubbled happily. “Say, I was about to go pick vegetables from the garden for dinner tonight. You want to come with me?”

“I would only slow you down.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” she scoffed. “Come on! I’m not in a hurry.”

He really didn’t have much choice in the matter, but Ignis had to admit that he did want to join her. She was extremely patient as she led him toward the garden, never guiding him by the arm like the others did, but instead waiting quietly for him to catch up, giving him the agency to scan his own route and take his own steps. He didn’t cling to her, because for once, he didn’t have to. It was a small, subtle change, but one that he greatly appreciated.

“What sort of vegetables are you using?” he asked as they steadily made their way along the rocky path.

“The usual,” she answered. “Onions, garlic, some zucchini, carrots…” Her footsteps came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, but Noct doesn’t like carrots, does he?”

“He doesn’t think so,” Ignis lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “But he’d be scandalized if he knew just how often I concealed them in dishes he enjoyed.”

“Oooh… Maybe you can tell me how to hide them so he won’t notice,” a smile crept into her speech. “It’ll be our little secret.”

She unexpectedly reached for his hand, and he couldn’t stop himself smiling as she tightly linked her little finger around his, giving it a gentle shake to seal their agreement. The gesture was quick and unceremonious, but one that left an impression with Ignis. Iris was young — younger than Noct and Prompto — but not so young that she gave off the impression of being immature or naive. However, what was refreshing for Ignis about being in her presence was that he never sensed guilt or pity from her. She didn’t feel sorry for him, or at least she didn’t show it outwardly like the others did. Ignis wasn’t sure if he could truly attribute her optimism to her young age or just to her bubbly personality, but all the same, it was yet another welcome change from the dark and depressing norm he’d been stuck in for so many weeks.

They soon arrived at the garden, and Iris guided him toward every plot that was ready for harvest. In explaining which specimens were ripe enough, she very carefully adjusted her language to avoid visual terminology like color or appearance. Instead, they poked and prodded the vegetables together, judging only by texture and resistance whether or not they’d throw them into their basket. Never once did she seem to lose any patience with Ignis as he carefully examined every piece with the utmost scrutiny. He studied the size and shape of every carrot, every zucchini, every onion, and only selected the ones that struck him as having the highest quality. When they’d gathered their harvest, Iris led him back into the house, babbling all the way about the joys of gardening and the fruits of one’s labor. In the kitchen, she listened eagerly to Ignis’s expert ramblings on the culinary arts while laying out all the tools they’d be using.

“Noct has no quarrel with onions or garlic,” Ignis began as he lowered himself into the chair by the counter. “The trick will be in concealing the courgette and the carrot in such a way that he’ll not notice their flavor or texture. Your best bet would be to grate the carrot finely, cook it to hell and back, then puree it. Lose it in a casserole and he’ll be none the wiser.”

“Does he really not notice?”

Ignis raised an eyebrow. “It’s either that, or he’s unusually polite when he eats it.”

Iris chuckled lightly to herself. “I always heard from Gladdy that he was a picky eater, but I never really believed it until I saw it for myself.”

“I believe my experience was similar to yours,” Ignis laughed along with her. “But, I can’t resent him for the affliction. I’d not be nearly the chef I am now if his palate was not so… _limited.”_

“Well, then I’m excited that I get to learn from the best,” she said cheerfully. “So, what should we make?”

Ignis thought for a moment. Normally, in this instance, he’d flip through his recipe book to search for inspiration. He instinctively pulled the small notebook out of his breast pocket, and opened it to the first entry, lightly sliding his thumb down the page and feeling the deep grooves left behind from his pen. He remembered quite well what recipe he’d written first — a simple dish that put a stunned smile on Noct’s face. Ignis was so moved, so flustered by that smile that he made it a personal goal to elicit as many of them from the young prince as he could.

He flipped forward a few more pages until he landed on one that brought up even more pleasant memories to revisit. The paper was flimsy and thin, as if it were nearly covered in ink. He knew exactly what recipe this was. Noct had tasted a sweet delicacy in Tenebrae, and Ignis set to work trying to figure out how to recreate it. Years of brainstorming, of trial and error, and a page so filled with notes that he could scarcely read it by the time he’d mastered the dish. He’d eventually set the project on hold for a while, but always vowed to finish it someday, even if it meant traveling the whole world just to find the answer. It was only recently that he’d finally discovered the famous dessert’s true secrets, and as his fingertips traced the firm scratches where he’d crossed out certain portions and filled in the blanks, he remembered quite well the return of that smile. Noct was so pleased.

Ignis could neither read nor write any longer, but the memories contained in this recipe book were treasures he would keep with him for all time. He opened the booklet to its last page, laying it out on the counter so that Iris could see it. The last thing he’d taken down was of a new dish they’d tasted in Altissia that Noct had been very fond of. Ignis couldn’t remember any of it, but he hoped he’d written legibly enough for his cooking companion to read it.

“Lasagna al Forno,” he announced. “It’s the perfect dish to incorporate all the vegetables you’ve gathered.”

“Oh?” Iris was quiet as she scanned over the recipe. “Gosh, it sounds delicious. But awfully complicated… we have to make the pasta sheets from scratch?”

“But of course!” Ignis answered, already making grandiose plans in his head. “Alongside thinly-sliced aubergine and courgette, some charred tomato and asparagus, a sauce of blended carrot… Noct will be singing our praises before dessert is even served.”

“Wow, that's a lot of veg! Let me see if we’ve got any—”

“And for the dessert course, a mousse of chocolate and avocado atop a sponge cake filled with carrot and courgette…” Ignis muttered aloud, unaware of her interjections. “He’ll consume all of his allotted vegetables from the past several years in this one meal.”

Iris sounded increasingly wary the longer he went on. “Whoa, slow down, Ignis! Remember, I’m just a novice…”

“Don’t fret,” Ignis assured her. “You’re a novice working under tutelage of an expert. I have full confidence in you.”

Although he sensed her apprehension, he could also tell that his words had emboldened her. This impromptu project could turn out to be a marvelous work of art or a complete and total disaster. But one thing was for certain — they were about to have fun. It had been a while since Ignis had so looked forward to something as routine as cooking supper, and he wasn’t about to let that anticipation go to waste.

“First, the pasta dough will need to rest before it's rolled out. Let’s measure out our flour.”

Iris was no stranger to making dough, since she specialized in baked goods and pastries. By Ignis’s instruction, she easily made a large batch of pasta dough and set it to rest in the refrigerator while they moved on to the _mise en place._ While she went to work breaking down the larger vegetables, Ignis was entrusted with a box grater to shred carrots and zucchini. As Dustin said, there were no small roles, and Ignis was exhilarated by just having the chance to contribute in some way. If he could peel and grate carrots, surely there was no limit to the tasks he could still perform. Iris was well-equipped with kitchen implements that he’d never considered using before — tools he’d always assumed were designed for housewives who hadn’t perfected their knife skills. But perhaps with the use of such contraptions, Ignis could modify his cooking techniques and return to his former glory. The thought alone made his heart leap in his chest. He’d called himself an expert before, immediately questioning whether he could still claim such a title. Now, with every successful task he completed, those doubts were rapidly whisked away.

They were nearly finished chopping everything when he heard Iris utter a tense sigh. “Oh boy…”

“What is it?”

“The onion,” she admitted. “I’ve always had trouble dicing onions.”

Onions were one of the most basic steps in food preparation. When he could see, Ignis could surely have diced an onion with one hand behind his back. Without even thinking about it, he proudly rose out of his chair. “Allow me.”

“Huh?” she asked, taken aback. “W-Wait, Ignis, you—”

“No need to worry,” he assured her. “You’ll still hold the knife. I will merely guide your hands.”

After a beat, she hesitantly agreed. “Okay, show me your tricks.”

“There’s no trick. Only patience.”

He approached her cautiously, dragging his fingers along the counter as he felt his way around to her position. It was a bit awkward squeezing in beside her to lay his hands over hers, adjusting not only her motions but her grip with the knife as well. To his pleasant surprise, she mostly had the technique spot-on, save for a few trouble areas that were easily corrected by his instruction. In no time, they’d finished one large onion together, diced evenly into tiny, palatable cubes.

“Excellent,” Ignis praised his unwitting student. “Well done, Iris. Now, you may dice the other one alone. I’ll inspect your work once it’s finished.”

In her voice he could still hear a hint of uncertainty. “Okay, I’ll try…”

He stepped back a few paces to allow her the space to concentrate on her work. Her movements were slow, but steady as they should be. Ignis supposed that since her talents were mostly in crafting sweets and pastries, she was slightly inexperienced with a knife. He noted that he would have to impart some confidence in her. A bit more practice and she’d become a well-rounded chef in no time.

He assumed she was nearly done when he heard sniffling. “Iris?” he asked, concerned. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

“S-Sorry,” she blubbered between sniffles. “Onions, you know…”

Ignis smiled knowingly. “Ah, yes, I’m all too familiar with that agonizing burn.”

“Tears all down my face, ruining my mascara… I feel like my eyes are on fire…!” she lamented before quickly stopping herself. “Oh… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

All at once, the pity that was so refreshingly absent in her filled the room. The shift in the atmosphere was disorienting, causing a sickening churn in Ignis’s stomach. Had he misread her? Had she felt this all along and kept it hidden? Although his first instinct was to be devastated by the revelation, Ignis had to pause, to ask himself if that really mattered. Iris was, in many ways, the first person to respond to his sudden disability without any grandiose displays of sympathy or disproportionate enthusiasm for being helpful. Iris didn’t impose, and she didn’t coddle him. He hadn’t realized how desperate he’d been for that sense of relief until he spent time with her, for once being treated like a normal person and not a broken invalid. He wouldn’t let this be the moment that tainted his connection with her.

He spoke warmly, seeking to put her at ease. “It’s alright. I’m not offended. Go and take in some fresh air. The onion will wait.”

She emitted a small noise of acknowledgement before leaving the kitchen in a hurry, sniffling all the way to a nearby washroom to splash some water on her face. While he waited, Ignis let his fingers examine the onion she’d been dicing. It wasn’t perfectly even, but adequate for the dish they were preparing and impressive for a novice. It seemed that she hadn’t quite finished before the fumes became too much for her, as a portion of the end was still intact. If he was careful enough, Ignis was certain that he could complete the dice himself.  
  
He picked up the knife, finding that it fit rather comfortably in his hand, weighted almost perfectly to his liking. He took a breath, then set the knife in position. _Steady, now…_ With a sharp exhale, he brought the blade down and sliced through a portion of the onion fragment. He’d done it. He’d made one slice, all by himself, completely blind. He cautiously slid the vegetable a centimeter closer and completed a second, successful cut. As he gained confidence, he began rocking the blade back and forth with an even pace, dividing the onion into chunks as easily as he had when he could see. He’d soon gotten so carried away that he didn’t notice when his finger had inched a little too close.

Pain erupted from the fresh cut, and a sudden warmth flooded over his skin. _Now you’ve done it._ He dropped the knife with a clatter and a hiss, taking a step back from the cutting board before he could further contaminate the ingredients. Were he not blind, he’d have reached for a towel or at least run the sink. But, disoriented and a bit frantic, he couldn’t recall where the kitchen paper was stored. Neither could he find the sink, no matter how he felt around in the dark.

“Ignis!” Iris’s voice startled him as she hurried back into the room. “Are you okay? What happened?”

She had already torn off a shred of kitchen paper and was tightly wrapping up his injured finger when he lowered his head with a sigh. “I’m afraid I jumped in to sate a personal curiosity of mine… and got a bit too confident.”

“You wanted to see if you could still do it?”

His finger throbbed under the fierce clench of her hand, squeezing in an effort to stem the flow of blood. The cut was superficial and the pain was mild, and he supposed he ought to count his blessings. It was the blow to his pride which truly hurt him. The sting of embarrassment and shame which cut more deeply than the knife. It was no surprise that he didn’t need to answer her. She was wise enough to understand, and in yet another show of maturity well beyond her years, she replied with an audible smile in her voice.  
  
“You did it, Ignis,” she congratulated him warmly. “All on your own.”

Ignis had known Gladio for many years, but couldn’t say the same for Iris. Although he was aware of her presence in both Gladio’s and Noct’s lives, he was so heavily focused on his duties toward the prince that he hadn’t taken the time to get to know her. He’d never had any siblings of his own, and wasn’t entirely privy to the extent of Gladio’s role in his little sister’s development into the competent young woman she was now, but he hoped that the man knew how compassionate a person she had turned out to be, and just how much of her older brother Ignis could see in her.

With his wound properly dressed — wrapped in a bandage proudly displaying the image of a cactuar — and the kitchen sanitized, they moved forward with the actual cooking process, which proved not nearly as frightening as either of them expected. With his expert sense of smell still intact, Ignis could much more easily direct Iris through the next stages, and found that she was already quite comfortable with the use of the oven. In no time at all, dinner was served. From what Ignis could tell, he’d been seated across from Noct, perhaps off by one chair or so. The prince was still groggy, but pleasantly surprised to hear that his supper had been cooked at least in part by Ignis. During the meal, voices from every direction practically sang in acclamation for both chefs. Though he sought to maintain his humble demeanor in the midst of such high praise, a smile was once again brought to Ignis’s face when he felt that familiar little finger hooking around his own again. He couldn’t see her, but he could tell that Iris must have been beaming just as widely, feeling just as proud of herself as he did.

When dessert was served, the praises only continued. Prompto, sweet tooth and all, gushed over each and every element of the dish with all the same enthusiasm Ignis had come to expect from him. Soon, the rest of the table followed suit, and as Ignis tasted it himself, he had to agree with their assessments. But, the mood shifted when Iris, sounding slightly offended, voiced an observation that Ignis wished he hadn’t heard.

“Why aren’t you eating, Noct?” she piped up. “Don’t you like it?”

There was a dead, uncomfortable silence, followed much too late by Noct’s stammering voice. “U-Um… Of course I like it. I was just, uh… getting full, is all.”

The next awkward pause was filled by the sound of a plate being slid along the wood grain of the table, accompanied by Prompto’s delighted voice. “Heh, more for me, then.”

Not much else was said after that, except for the occasional compliment from a satisfied dinner guest. Unfortunately, those accolades now felt obligatory, as if only intended to fill the gaping silence and placate the cooks’ egos. So, Noct didn’t like the dish after all. It wasn’t the first time, but Ignis regretted that it would probably be the last. A blind man simply could not be a chef, despite his sincerest efforts to make it so, and it seemed that on his journey toward overcoming his disability, cooking was something that would have to be left behind.

But he could wallow in self-pity later. For now, he could sense the disappointment and hurt in Iris’s heart. She wanted to make Noct happy just as much as he did, and wasn’t yet strong enough to endure the crushing rejection of his disapproval. He shared her pain, but in the moment he hadn’t a clue how to relieve it. He reached for where he hoped to find her hand, and after a second or two of fumbling, he matched her earlier gestures of encouragement and solidarity, linking their little fingers together with the same gentle shake.

“There now, Iris,” he whispered, low enough so that the others wouldn’t hear. “Noct is still recovering. All that time spent in bed can diminish the appetite.”

“If I had just blended it for a little longer—”

“Then it would have been a pudding and not a mousse,” he finished for her. “Now, I can’t see them, but I’m willing to bet all my gil that this table is full of clean plates, isn’t it?”

She paused briefly before mumbling her reluctant answer. “All but one…”

“And, if you look around at everyone, do you see content and smiling faces?”

Another pause followed, during which Ignis’s heart skipped a few beats. This was the answer that he most strongly anticipated, and when he could no longer stand the wait for her response, he grinned as he presented his own. “All but one, eh?”

With that, he gave her a friendly nudge, to which she managed a laugh, her spirits lifted just enough. If he could give her nothing else, Ignis owed her at least that smile. After all, she’d lifted his spirits as well, and he’d cracked more than a few smiles in the short time they’d spent cooking together. She’d upended all of her plans just to accommodate him, taking both his insecurity and his overconfidence in stride. She pushed him when he hesitated, and she adjusted when he took too great a leap, all the while acting with the patience of a saint. When words failed him, he hoped that she could sense his gratitude, just as he could sense hers now.

After a while, the sound of cutlery scraping on ceramic plates had diminished as supper drew to a close. Coffee was distributed and plans were being made for some after-dinner games. Of all the voices heard contributing to the conversation, one was very noticeably missing among the crowd. Ignis wondered if Noct was still there, seated across from him, just listening or lost in thought. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep in his chair. The longer he waited, the more Ignis longed to call out his name, if only to ask if he was still present. But, he could not muster up the nerve to speak. It was for the best, he supposed. Noct would likely resent the fuss anyway.

“Alright, Prompto,” Gladio croaked, half-yawning. “Time to wash the dishes.”

Prompto let out a long groan. “Aw man, does it have to be right now?” he whined. “I ate too much and now I’m all heavy and bloaty!”

“Then you gotta work all those calories off,” Gladio snickered, sounding just as heavy himself. “Let’s go, Bloaty.”

Grumbling, the two were heard staggering into the kitchen, moaning about the weight of their full bellies as they tried to walk off the discomfort. Iris jumped up from her seat and began clearing the table, barking at Talcott for failing to push his chair back in place. There was a collective scraping sound as the other occupants rose to their feet and gradually left the table. One guest in particular was heard making his way around the table very slowly. His gait was unsteady, as if he were having to lean heavily against the backs of chairs as he walked. Just before he’d passed Ignis by, his footsteps stopped.

“Thanks, Specs.”

Noct’s voice. Of course. That was Noct’s chair across the table. Ignis, rather flustered by the short acknowledgment, couldn’t quite find the words in time to answer. He’d barely managed to mumble his reply before those same, uneven footsteps were heard ascending the creaky staircase. After just a few seconds of tense silence, the footsteps reached the landing. A door closed and they were gone, leaving Ignis at the table alone with his thoughts again.

_All but one…_ Ignis wondered if he’d been truthful then. Did Noct smile at supper? He supposed he would have to live with the mystery. But, he wondered, what reason was there to cook if he could not see Noct’s eyes light up with approval? If he could not bring a genuine grin to that stone face of his? In a moment of weakness, he indulged in wishes so wicked he dared not repeat them aloud. Prayers that Noct really _loathed_ the meal. At least then, there would have been no smile to miss. A dreadful thought, Ignis chided himself. One he’d never let grace his mind again.

Everyone was busy with their after-dinner chores, and with all the bustle in the house, Ignis was able to slip away quietly without any of them noticing. There wasn’t much to do outside, and he hadn’t the foggiest idea where he really wanted to go, but so long as he could have some space, he would be content. He made his way down the hill, aiming to get as far away from the house as possible. It was a perilous trek down to the shoreline, but one he deemed to be well worth it. The light outside was dim as the sun hung low in the sky, perhaps already having set behind the horizon. The air was misty and cool on his face. The salty smell of the breeze and the gentle rushing of waves built for him a calm atmosphere, providing welcome respite from the chaos at the house.

He reckoned it was a bit cliche to miss the sight of a sunset. Perhaps every blind man would mourn that particular loss at one time or other, and there would be no end to their poetic and grandiose laments. But as lovely as Ignis remembered a sunset could be, it was by no means the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The sun rose and set every day, and not once did he ever feel the need to stop and take in the view, finding the event too commonplace to elicit any awe or wonder in him. Instead, his eyes would forever long for something far more rare and precious to see, a sight more dazzling than the sky at dusk, the absence of which cutting far deeper than the setting sun ever could.

If Iris were there with him now, he guessed that she would understand. In a way, she was the first person he’d told. The first person to ever learn what cooking truly meant to him. The two of them shared the same love that would go forever unrequited. They both wanted desperately for the one thing they couldn’t have. Cooking, for Ignis, was to be his bridge toward that unreachable destination, a bridge he’d been building since his childhood. Now, all at once, that bridge had come tumbling down. Iris was perhaps too young for feelings such as this. Too young to suffer the ache of a broken heart. He knew, however, that as mature and seasoned as she was, she was no stranger to that pain. Indeed, she’d been standing beside him on that same bridge when it fell to pieces beneath their feet, plunging them both into the cold, lonely waters below.

He reached into his breast pocket again. The little notebook filled with recipes he’d learned — recipes he’d designed, recipes he’d loved — no longer served him any purpose. He couldn’t read, he couldn’t write, and he couldn’t cook. These worn pages now contained only memories, painful and cruel as they were, of exactly the treasured gift that Ignis had lost. That first dish — that first smile. The last, as well. Memories were all they would ever be. This book, what was once his key to all that truly mattered to him, was now little more than dead weight. His bridge to Noct’s heart — broken beyond repair. And so, without a second thought, Ignis reared back and flung the booklet as hard as he could, letting it fly into the sea with a faint splash in the distance, putting that chapter behind him, in the past, where it belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks very much for reading. This was my favorite chapter. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I do.
> 
> I've come up with a new discord server! Please, join us at Ignis Thirsting Hours! We'd love to have you <3  
> https://discord.gg/V76FS8EUKm
> 
> Peace and Love,  
> Ostelan


	4. Depression

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update 2/19: I won’t be able to update the fic today. I live in Texas and we are having a major apocalyptic crisis right now. I’ll get back to it next week once everything here settles. Please keep us in your thoughts <3

_Noct,_

_All light has left the world. Eos is barren, bathed in darkness so thick that even I am weary of its shroud. Daemons have driven the citizenry from nearly every town, and even more people have gone missing without a trace._

_Gladio has left to join the Marshal in recruiting for the new Crownsguard. Of course, I insisted that he go, despite his reservations about leaving me behind. I have no regrets, but at times I feel conflicted. I am certain you would have wanted us to stay together. We were a team, a family. But at the same time, we must uphold our duties to the citizens of Lucis. You would have expected nothing less._

_It can be argued that our separation was necessary, but those rationalizations bring me little comfort now. Hindered by blindness, I am of no use to anyone. Gladio and Prompto serve the people as they always have, and the fight draws on, but I am very much alone._

_Many have lost hope. Despair has become second-nature. My prayers to the Astrals are met with heavy silence, and my faith that you will return to deliver us from this hell falters each day. I no longer know how to walk tall._

_Please, hurry back, Noct. The world…_ my _world is empty without you in it._

_Ignis Scientia_

* * *

With a sharp gasp, Ignis sprang upright. Heart still racing and sweat coating his skin, he shivered inside the twisted blanket he’d partially kicked off sometime in the night. _A dream…_ He’d had plenty of dreams and a fair few nightmares since that day in Altissia, but none so vivid as this one. It took several minutes to slow his breathing, even longer for the trembling in his body to dissipate. But the images from his sleeping mind remained, as if pasted to the backs of his eyelids. Noct’s lifeless body, the pool of blood, the pity on Ravus’s face and the cackling in Ardyn’s voice — still just as clear as if it had happened only yesterday.

Though his vision was still cloaked in darkness, the putrid stench of the Cartanica mine served as a nauseating reminder of where he was. The four of them had been in that stinking pit of misery for three long nights already, and once they’d collected the royal arm they’d come for, they found themselves too exhausted from the battle with the dreaded malboro — and with each other — to climb all the way back up to the train station. They made camp one last time, with not a word exchanged between them as they rested in their seats around the fire. The conflict was resolved and everyone had said their piece, yet Ignis was not blind to the lingering tension in the air. Gladio to his left, stiff as a board. Prompto to his right, fidgeting in place. Noct across from him, staring into the distance. Their morale, as low as it ever was, rapidly dwindling. Once close friends, their company now mirrored that of strangers.

When the fire had dwindled to just hot coals, they crawled into the tent together, and Ignis sincerely hoped that the absence of a single ‘goodnight’ was merely because they’d all fallen asleep before they could say it. It had taken him a long while to finally drift away, only to be rudely interrupted by the night terrors. Now, his companions were silent, and he could sense that it was still quite dark outside. He guessed there were still enough hours left of night for him to roll over and go back to sleep, hoping that the dreams would not plague him a second time. But, he noticed, it was far too quiet inside the tent. Where he expected to hear Gladio’s snoring, Prompto’s mumbling, or even Noct’s coughing, there was only dead silence all around him. He reached to his right for Noct, but his hands only found a vacant sleeping bag. He reached to his left for Prompto — the same twisted sheets and a pillow that wasn’t even warm. Calling out to them yielded only more silence. The tent was completely empty. It was too early for them to be awake, and even more unusual for them to all leave at once. He was about to search for his phone to call them when a blood-curdling scream stopped him in his tracks, sending a frigid chill up his spine.

That voice belonged to Prompto. He was sure of it. The sound was quickly amplified by the addition of Noct and Gladio, howling in distress along with him. Ignis wasted no time digging through the mess of bedding, desperately trying to find his cane. All the while, the cries of his friends rang out in the night. Once he found it, he quickly climbed out of the tent, not even bothering to zip it closed behind him. He scanned the ground in front of his feet, waving the cane back and forth rapidly but hardly able to process the emptiness there. The terrain was uneven, wet, and covered in roots. In his haste, he lost his footing on a perilous slope and came crashing down in the mud, losing the cane in the pool of water at the bottom of the hill. He searched and searched, dragging his hands through mud and silt in the murky puddle, but it was hopeless. The cane was gone. Another chilling scream brought him back to his feet, running blindly through a patch of overgrowth, praying he wouldn’t be too late.

Tripping over roots and stubbing his toes on rocks, Ignis sprinted in the direction of the screaming, following where his ears led him. The voices seemed to shift at every turn, leaving him ever more disoriented as he tried to keep up with them. One moment, he heard Noct directly ahead, then seconds later to the far left. Another moment and he was certain Gladio was right behind him, only to turn around and find nothing there. The screams multiplied until they were surrounding him, emanating from far more than just his three friends. The sounds began to distort into something inhuman, something sinister. The unsettling slithers of appendages being dragged along the water’s surface were closing in on him. The helpless cries of his friends were replaced by a sickening chorus of ugly groans. It was then that Ignis realized that he’d been fooled. He could sense the frightening aura of daemons circling around him with no opening left for escape. He was all too familiar with the spectral moaning, the nauseating stench of decay, and the icy chill that wafted off of the creatures’ ghostly forms. Mindflayers. A whole pack of them, and Ignis was now their defenseless prey.

There wasn’t time to question how and why daemons had decided to appear now, after so many nights free from their scourge. Ignis summoned his daggers, hoping that he could cut himself a path to safety, but prepared to at least go down swinging. He held his breath the moment he smelled the toxic mist they spewed in his face, narrowly avoiding the incapacitating effects of their first attack. Slick, barbed tentacles lapped at his flesh, and he cut and sliced at them with his blades before they could pierce him too deep. He dove to the ground at the first whoosh of their petrifying beam. The particle magic just barely grazed his shoulder, leaving a stony burn where it touched him. He tried to crawl away, but every direction faced him with another phantom, each of them ready to devour him on the spot.

“Iggy!”

 _Praise be to the Astrals._ It was Gladio. The hurried splashes of footsteps bounding toward him and the frantic voices of his friends returned. They were here, they were alive, and they were completely unscathed. Ignis was so relieved that he couldn’t summon the clarity of thought to escape. Rather than using their diversion to his advantage, he stayed frozen in place, a sitting duck for one of the creatures to lunge right at his head. Before he could even flinch, small hands closed around his wrists and heaved with all their strength, dragging him away from the daemons before they could strike.

“Are you okay?” Prompto, breathless, was lifting him back to his feet and brushing the mud off his clothes. Ignis, still stunned, couldn’t put enough words together to answer him. He wanted to explain himself, to describe the hallucinations he’d experienced, to ask if everyone was indeed safe and well. But now was not the time for a conversation. Prompto yanked him aside and followed with the loud crack of a gunshot, just in time to stop one of the ghostly creatures on the prowl.

“Stay here, Iggy,” Prompto urged him. “We’ll take care of these bastards.”

“Prompto, wait—!”

The boy was already gone, rushing back into the fray to help take down the horde of daemons still putting up a fight. He could only listen to the sounds of clashing weapons, grunts of exertion and the hissing squeals of their enemies falling one by one. Ignis couldn’t tell how many there were, but guessed that there had to be over a dozen, and perhaps more spawned for each one that was defeated. He tracked his friends' positions, following their voices as they dashed around the arena, barely keeping up with the horde of creatures closing in. As long as he could hear them, he reminded himself, they were alive. Gladio, barking orders from the far end of the pit. Noct, shouting out requests to team up. Prompto, warning them to duck, lest they be hit by one of his bullets. It was chaos, and Ignis could only hope that they were winning.

Noct fell. Ignis heard it right away. A pained cry as the prince staggered to his knees. Ignis sprinted in his direction without sparing a thought for the Mindflayers that blocked his path. He drew his daggers once more, slashing wildly to carve his way through, but the resistance only thickened before him and he could not reach his friend. The spectres turned on him, blasting their fumes and grasping with their slick tentacles.

“Prompto!” Gladio bellowed from a few dozen feet away. “Help Iggy!”

Seconds later, Ignis felt the same hands pulling hard at his elbow to free him from the daemon’s grip. “Prompto to the rescue!” the boy exclaimed cheerfully. “I gotcha, buddy. It’s okay.”

At last, Ignis was released, and with a barrage of gunfire, the Mindflayer was destroyed. Ignis focused his ears again, scanning the area for Noct’s presence. “Prompto, forget me! Help Noct!”

“What?” Prompto asked, sounding genuinely confused. “Noct is fine! He just—”

Prompto’s voice was abruptly cut off by a choked gasp from his throat. All activity came to a freezing halt around them as Ignis waited for him to finish speaking. The words never came. A splash followed as Prompto’s lifeless body collapsed in the water. Then, just silence. The sudden absence of his labored panting. The harrowing smell of fresh blood.

_“Prompto!!”_

Ignis was beside himself, heart pounding in his ears as he scrambled to Prompto’s side. He pulled his limp body out of the water and took him into his arms, listening for breath, for a pulse, for any sign of life in him. The battle resumed in his periphery, ghostly figures hovering just out of his reach, as if to taunt him. Gladio and Noct were in hot pursuit, throwing weapons as fast as they could materialize. Ignis was keenly focused on Prompto, shaking him, begging him to stir, frantically crying his name. Each passing second without a response only dashed his hopes even further.

In a last-ditch effort to save him, Ignis hurriedly reached into his pocket, fumbling around for anything that could bring him back. He found one Phoenix Down, crumpled up among the other healing potions he managed to stuff into his jacket, and wasted no time activating it against Prompto’s back as he cradled his motionless body. While faint light shimmered in the air before him, he embraced Prompto tightly, desperately shielding him from the monsters heading right toward their position. At last, there was movement in Prompto’s chest, expanding with his first breath.

“P-Prompto? Can you hear me?”

Noct’s voice hollered from some distance behind him. “Ignis, watch out!”

Ignis turned just in time to catch the sharp breeze of a heavy blade flying past his face and burying itself inside the final daemon. The Mindflayer let out a horrendous screech as it melted into a puddle of black sludge and disappeared. With the last phantom slain, the entire pit was still and quiet, save for the heaving breaths of the four men, weary from battle and having not yet recovered from the shock. The fight with the malboro had sapped their energy, and it was a wonder any one of them had survived this sudden ambush. When he sensed their confusion, their outrage, Ignis truly understood that he’d fallen victim to a dirty trick. For all he knew, his friends had been asleep in the tent all along, and he’d hallucinated their disappearance, their cries for help… None of it was real. He’d been duped, lured away from the safety of their camp, and in coming to his rescue, Prompto had been seriously injured. Words were inadequate to convey Ignis’s remorse.

“Prompto…” he whispered shakily, tightening his arms around him. “Forgive me…”

Weighted footsteps approached them, slogging through the shallow puddles between. Gladio sounded worn out, and Ignis felt his scolding eyes staring down at him as he blew out a long and heavy sigh. “Let’s head back to camp,” he said flatly. “I’ll take him, Iggy.”

Ignis didn’t protest as the man bent down to take Prompto from his arms. Without another word, Gladio slung the unconscious boy over his shoulder and turned to go, leaving a novel’s worth of words unsaid behind him.

“Gladio…”

Ignis was surprised to hear such a pitiful sound erupt from his own throat, meeker than he’d ever spoken in his life. Gladio paused when he heard it, but gave no response — just one short grunt before resuming his trek. He wasn’t angry. Not anymore. But Ignis could sense his disappointment. Could tell that he’d failed to live up to the man’s expectations and had put them all in danger. Just like he was afraid would happen. Just like he’d warned them, though not in so many words. Gladio was as delicate as he could be when trying to explain that their focus could not be split for Ignis’s sake. They could not lose sight of their objective in the interest of protecting him. Ignis understood him then, and appreciated the second chance he was granted. And now, he’d spoiled it. Now, Gladio had all the confirmation he needed. It gave him no anger, no satisfaction at being right. Ignis could hear it in his voice, in the way he dragged his feet when he walked. Deep, unending sadness.

He waved away Noct’s outstretched hands, climbing back to his feet without any assistance. They’d surely find his cane in the morning, or maybe it was already lost to the monsters. To Ignis, it didn’t matter anymore. He’d promised his friends that if he couldn’t keep up, he would stay behind. His determination then was to prove himself, to convince not only them, but himself that he could still be of use to them. Tonight, that lingering question had been answered. Now, it was never more clear that the time had come for him to gracefully bow out and let the royal retinue complete their mission unburdened by their disabled companion. In the morning, he would join them on one last train ride to Tenebrae. There, he would summon the last of his dignity, hold his head high, and bid his friends adieu at last.

* * *

The coals were no longer glowing, no longer warm. Nearly an hour after they returned to camp, Ignis was still shivering in his wet clothes as he waited alone beside the fire pit — the one place he knew he wouldn’t be in the way. Gladio was tending to Prompto’s wounds inside, along with Noct. Their muffled dialogue was all that got through to his ears, though he couldn’t make out a word of it. All the while, Ignis sat perfectly still in his chair, as far away from the tent as possible. He’d been offered a blanket, some water, a potion, only to wave them away. _Save it for Prompto,_ he’d insist, though he simply preferred to hurt, preferred to bleed. Perhaps as some sort of penance for his misdeeds, he presumed. What was another bruise, another scar in the grand scheme of things? How much more could he truly be harmed at this point?

His head shot up at the sound of a zipper being opened and someone climbing out of the tent. “Noct?”

A short exhale. “He’s gonna be okay. Just has to sleep it off.”

Ignis sighed deeply. “That’s a relief...” He slumped back in the chair, catching his breath and letting his heart rate settle for a moment before turning back toward the approaching footsteps. “And you? Were you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Gladio, too,” he lowered himself into the chair directly beside Ignis. “Although, I should be asking if you’re alright.”

Ignis knew Noct well enough to know that he was asking about more than just his physical well-being. It had been so long since they’d been able to talk. Weeks, he reckoned, though he supposed he was just as much to blame for the neglect. Even now, he would let that neglect continue, as he couldn’t bring himself to give much more than a solemn nod. “I’m fine... All thanks to you lot.”

He could sense Noct’s anticipation, the tension in the air as he waited to hear more. “Listen… nobody blames you for this. Those things are—”

“Thank you, Noct,” Ignis interrupted him, keeping that door firmly closed. “I’m well aware how vicious a Mindflayer can be.”

From the moment Noct first opened his eyes after the Leviathan incident, he remained distant, speaking very little and largely keeping to himself. It was understandable, of course, after everything he’d endured, everyone he’d lost. Ignis had talked plenty with him over the several weeks they’d spent recovering, though oftentimes it was like conversing with a brick wall. Responses were sparse and gruff, with few words and little emotion behind them, always conveniently avoiding the deeper topics. They didn’t talk about Regis, they didn’t talk about Luna, and they didn’t talk about Ignis. They discussed neither the fall of Insomnia nor the tragedy in Altissia. There was no relief to such a practice — the tension and sorrow were still there, but they tiptoed around it, leaving it to stew for another day when the stench of rot would overwhelm them. This moment would have been their first chance to speak to each other, to address that pain, to have any sort of meaningful conversation in weeks. And now, of all times, Ignis really wasn’t interested in talking.

To reject Noct violated every instinct he’d ever felt. To keep him at such a distance now when he so desperately wanted to be near him… it was unnatural. It was _wrong._ And that uncomfortable sensation of being left in the dark — one which Ignis was now all too familiar with — was not lost on Noct. The hurt in his voice was prominent, and it stung more sharply than any dagger that Ignis had ever thrown. “Ignis… please, talk to me.”

Ignis cocked his head, feigning curiosity. “What is it you wish to talk about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Noct replied. “Just… anything.”

 _Anything…_ A prompt so open, it should have been easy to answer. Ignis held back enough words to fill a novel. A hundred novels. He supposed he owed Noct an explanation, though where it would start, he couldn’t fathom. The meaning behind his sacrifice was far deeper than simple loyalty to the crown, than his duty as royal retainer. One day, he might have found the courage to fully admit to himself that serving and caring for Noct was a personal endeavor, rather than a professional one. He’d grown accustomed to the man’s company over the years, held him more closely than any friend he’d ever known. The choice for him was obvious. Noct was simply too precious to lose. Noct was his purpose, his calling. Now, after all they’d been through, Ignis knew in his heart of hearts that Noct deserved to hear that truth — that for as much as Noct needed him, Ignis needed Noct as well. But where on Eos would he begin?

Noct spoke up after a while, graciously letting him off the hook. “Hey, uh… you remember that dance lesson we did?”

The question took Ignis by surprise. Those days felt like aeons ago, a past life he’d nearly forgotten. The event to which Noct was referring was a short lesson in ballroom dancing — a requirement in preparation for the prince’s upcoming wedding. If he recalled correctly, it wasn’t exactly the fondest memory.

“Ah… Yes, I remember,” he said after a few seconds to think. “I’m afraid you’ve got two left feet.”

“I do not!” Noct scoffed. “I was just… having trouble following your steps!”

Ignis grinned playfully in his direction. “You were supposed to be leading.”

The chair creaked as Noct slumped backward and crossed his arms in a huff. “Dancing is stupid anyway.”

Ignis couldn’t stifle a giggle, and in no time he and Noct were laughing together as they reminisced about that day. Upon reflection, he had to give Noct some credit for at least trying his best. Over and over, he’d start the music and the boy would simply freeze. Ignis nudged him along, muttering instructions into his ear as they shuffled across the ballroom floor. Noct was counting under his breath, nowhere near in rhythm with the orchestra. His head hung low as he stared at Ignis’s feet, barely keeping up with his pace. The lesson was a series of stumbles, missed steps and trampled toes, and at the end of it, Ignis remembered chiding him rather harshly. He lectured Noct, not on his technique, but on his entire approach. Told him that a _king_ should find it in his nature to lead rather than to follow. How he wished he could have taken those biting words back when he saw how they’d hurt his friend.

Now, as fate had pulled Ignis into a dance for which he’d not prepared, he understood well the exasperation Noct had felt. In his blindness, Ignis now stumbled just as often and grew just as frustrated. He, too, could not keep up with the music. He, too, struggled to follow the steps. And now, he longed for the same remedy, the same relief he’d employed back then. When tempers had settled and apologies were spoken, Ignis shut the music off and pulled the prince in for another, much simpler dance. One with no rhythm, no leading, and no following. As the lights above them dimmed appropriately, the two leaned into one another and simply swayed in place, eyes closed and counting only the breaths between them.

Would that he could shut off the music now and gather his friends into one embrace, rocking in unison with no tempo to follow. The four of them had a lively routine at one time, owning their stage with confidence and finesse. Ignis could anticipate his partners’ movements, as if hearing their thoughts and sensing their will. He knew precisely when Noct was preparing to improvise a collaborative strike. He predicted Gladio’s every warning or instruction. He had potions ready for Prompto before he even knew he’d need them. They operated on one wavelength, communicating at near-telepathic levels. Now, that connection had been fractured. Now, Ignis had become the second left foot, ever throwing off their rhythm, ever ruining their dance.

He drew in a ragged breath. “I hear… a change to everyone’s gait now.”

“Huh?”

“As my own has become slow and unsteady, I have noticed that so, too, have the rest of yours,” he explained, growing increasingly downcast as he did. “As if the three of you now carry an immense burden.”

The response was quick and insistent. “You’re not a burden, Ignis.”

“I appreciate your patience,” Ignis thanked him, though not believing a word of his denial. “But I’m no fool. I know full well how heavy I’ve become for you all.”

“If this is about what Gladio said—“

“Gladio and I have put the matter to rest.”

The sharp interruption once again halted the prince’s tongue. Though Ignis could not see the confusion in his eyes, he could sense very clearly his anticipation and his guilt. “Ignis…” he whispered shakily. “Whatever happened that day… I’m so sorry…”

“No, Noct, that’s precisely what I—“ Ignis stopped himself, taking a breath to reset before starting again. “You are entitled to whatever your feelings may be on this matter. But if I have any say in it, I would ask that you not pity me, and that you not blame yourself.” He softened considerably before finishing. “I’ve made my peace with it, and I have no regrets.”

Noct was not convinced. Ignis didn’t have to see his face to know that, and it hurt him deeply to keep things from him. But the secrets he kept in his heart — hidden even from Prompto and Gladio — were more grisly, more agonizing than the tales of one man fighting to protect his king. And it was in those secrets where Ignis nursed a still-bleeding wound upon his very soul. The real motivation behind his actions on that day, the truth that drove him to burn out his own eyes in a fit of rage and despair.

Ignis leaned forward onto his knees, his head facing the ground as he spoke. “Noct… do you recall what I told you when you asked me why I enjoy cooking?”

Silence followed, to which Ignis gave the answer. “I told you that the true joy of cooking comes from seeing the faces of those for whom I cook,” he paused, collecting himself briefly before going on. “Noct… I will never look upon your face again. I will never see you smile as you taste a meal I prepare for you. I will never see if you look like your father when you grow up.” His voice began to break. “That’s… what I will miss the most.”

There would be no end to the cycling in his mind, going back over the events and wondering what he could have or should have done differently. Wondering if there was indeed another way and that he’d just missed it. But through it all, there was one persistent thought which followed him wherever he went — born from the depths of his despair and thriving in the forefront of his consciousness. That despite his efforts, all of his years in training, his knowledge, his preparation, the sheer magnitude of his sacrifices… it was all for _nothing._ He’d dedicated his life to Noct, given up his own eyes for Noct, and it was all meaningless.

He never spoke of the visions which haunted him daily. The images of Noct’s body, slumped over on his throne. Regis’s grief-stricken face. The deep, distorted voice of a heartless deity, coldly reciting a prophecy that wrote his best friend out of existence. Those inescapable torments were proof that after everything, he’d failed. In that fateful gamble, he’d paid a hefty price, but only managed to buy some time. Noct — his purpose, his calling — would be lost either way, and there was nothing Ignis could do to prevent it.

For Ignis, it was to be a cold day in hell when he would ever lie to Noct. But, for all the times he insisted that he stood proudly by his sacrifice, his thoughts were just the opposite. He carried with him a wealth of regrets in spite of what he’d told Noct. He resented the trauma he’d brought upon himself. He questioned the decision he made, and he doubted whether he could live with the consequences now. What a _fool_ he’d been, thinking he could defy fate. What selfish, reckless behavior he’d displayed. Perhaps he _deserved_ to be blind after everything he’d done, everything he’d failed to do. It was from a dark place that thoughts like these were born. A place so foul and loathsome that Ignis buried it away with all the energy he had to spare — energy that was rapidly dwindling. Most days, he teetered along the ledge, too afraid to jump, but too angry, too tired to hold on. What was a world without Noct? What was life without his purpose? Ignis questioned whether such a life would be worth living. In several instances, moments of terrible weakness, he thanked his blind eyes for sparing him the obligation to face Noct, knowing what he knew.

How jarring it was to finally acknowledge those wounds. To let himself feel the anguish of having gone blind for nothing. To admit how terrifying, how infuriating blindness truly was. How agonizing, and yet how refreshing it was to let himself fully experience despair. Not for the world, not for Noct, but for _himself._ Before he even realized what was happening, and far too sudden for him to stop it, he felt tears well up behind his closed eyelids and fall in slow cascades down his face. They burned terribly as they pooled in his damaged eyes and seeped over his broken skin, flowing too quickly for him to contain them.

“Bloody hell…” he gasped, sniffling and frantically dragging his sleeve across his nose and cheeks in a futile effort to wipe away the tears. “How embarrassing…”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Noct’s reply was swift and gracious. “I won’t tell them.”

It wasn’t so much that Ignis never cried at all. In fact, he cried plenty, when no one was looking. To his recollection, only Gladio had ever caught him shedding any tears, and if his memory was accurate, he was almost certainly under a great deal of stress at the time and had drank one too many glasses of wine. But Ignis _never_ cried in front of Noct. Not once, in all the years he’d spent with him. Now, here he was at his most vulnerable, in plain view of his prince, completely exposed. Never before had he felt so weak, so ashamed.

Thankfully, however, Noct was not ashamed. He never reacted with disgust or embarrassment for him. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t even move a muscle. He simply sat quietly beside him, allowing Ignis all the time he needed to cry until he could hardly breathe.

Anguish, hopelessness, and despair would likely follow him everywhere he went for many months, perhaps even years. If this stage in his life truly was grief, as the doctor said, then there wasn’t much left for him to do but experience it in its entirety. Somehow, Ignis would have to brace himself for the painful process of accepting his new reality, and the loss that he’ll have incurred. And yet, when he had at last finished crying, he gained some clarity of thought, allowing him to briefly indulge in a sense of optimism, a glimmer of hope amid the dark truth in his path.

“Noct,” he began. “If I may ask…”

He almost gave up on the plea, but that persistent glimmer in the darkness spurred him on. “If, at some point, you should find that your destiny demands too much of you… I hope that you will pause and reconsider your options.”

“What do you mean?”

Once, he had asked Noct to call it off. Speaking only for himself, he implored the king to walk away, content in knowing he’d never blame him for doing so. It was a selfish request, one that he regretted ever giving voice. But this was one that Ignis stood by, and that he hoped Noct would take to heart.

“Who is to say that the problems we face will not have more than one solution? There may be many paths that lead you to your destiny, but only if you seek them out.” 

Throughout his purposely vague explanation, Ignis hoped that he wasn’t giving away too much. It wasn’t his place to hinder the king’s fate. It wasn’t his place to dictate his predestined path. Ignis embraced his role as merely an advisor, and if ever there was a time to give his king advice, now was that time.

“A moment’s pause. Just enough time to catch your breath,” he smiled as he reached his conclusion. “I think fate can spare that much.”

“I don’t understand,” Noct said, still sounding confused. “Do you know something I don’t?”

“I only know that I nearly lost you once,” Ignis laid a hand on his wrist. “It was an experience I’d not like to see repeated.”

It was obvious that Noct still didn’t entirely understand Ignis’s plea, but at the same time, it was clear that he would honor it. Some day, perhaps sooner than either of them would like, Noct would learn the truth. By then, he might piece together Ignis’s words of wisdom. Ignis supposed it was all right to hope for that.

It had been some time since they’d heard anything from Gladio or Prompto in the tent. As far as Ignis was concerned, no news was good news. The two were probably sound asleep. Noct hadn’t made a sound in a while either, and Ignis wondered if he’d drifted away as well. But his question was answered when his friend’s voice, sounding a bit shy and trepidatious, broke the silence.

“Ignis?”

“Hm?”

Noct hesitated for a long beat. “Will you dance with me?” he finally asked meekly. “Don’t worry… I’ll lead.”

Noct was a better dancer than Ignis had last given him credit for. Trying to predict where he’d be taken, Ignis listened closely to his footsteps, perhaps clutching his hand and shoulder a bit too hard in his nervousness. But after a moment he realized that none of his apprehension was necessary. When he felt a few tugs at his shirt, he understood the message that was being sent. With the light pressure of fingers at his waist and the gentle pull on his outstretched hand, Ignis was being guided through every step. Noct had set a clear rhythm, slow and easy to follow. His movements were graceful and steady. And all along, he silently instructed Ignis to _relax_ and _let him lead._ It was a welcome relief, then, to allow Noct the reins, lean in, and simply go wherever the dance would carry them.

They danced for nearly an hour, only ever stopping to catch their breaths here and there. Being spun around with no guarantee of where he’d land was at first a bit frightening for Ignis, but he’d have been lying if he didn’t admit that it was exhilarating at the same time. It was then that he realized just how fully he had placed his trust in Noct. His best friend, his purpose for being, would never let him fall. With this dance they shared, he had more than proven himself. He had truly taken the lead, just like any great king should.

It was uncertain how many more nights like this they would have. How many more opportunities there would be to dance together. How many more chances he’d get to be this close to Noct. Perhaps this was the last one — a possibility that Ignis might some day learn to accept. If that was so, then he would endeavor to cherish every moment they’d been given. He would hold Noct as tightly as he could, following wherever his king led him, dancing the night away. Then, and only then, when the sun rose in the morning would Ignis truly be able to say that in his heart, he held no regrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the one that started it all. I came up with this one first, and although it's been pretty much entirely rewritten from my original draft, I still really love how it turned out. Thanks always for reading, and stay tuned for next week's final chapter!
> 
> I've come up with a new discord server! Please, join us over at Ignis Thirsting Hours to gush about our favorite tactician. We'd love to have you <3  
> https://discord.gg/3QDvFyfJaG
> 
> Peace and Love,  
> Ostelan


	5. Acceptance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter, my state experienced a bit of a winter-pocalypse last week. But we're back on track!

_Noct,_

_I must apologize, for it’s been some time since I last wrote to you. I took a bit of a hiatus to travel with Talcott. On this quest for knowledge, we investigated a large ruin near the peak of Ravatogh, wherein we studied some of the symbolic imagery inside and learned a great deal about Lucian history. Though I could not see it but through my traveling partner’s eyes, I must admit that it was an enlightening experience. Talcott is an exceptionally bright child. Intelligent, driven; a real asset to have along on this sabbatical. More than that, he’s a kind soul, a good listener, and a valued friend. I know he would have made his grandfather very proud._

_Gladio has excelled as the new Captain of the Crownsguard, and Prompto makes headlines every day with his stellar photography. We’ve long since gone our separate ways, but the moment my phone rings, it’s as if we were never apart. They’ve always got stories to tell, and more often than not I can thrill them with one of my own. I can’t wait to tell you… no,_ show _you how far I’ve come._

_Blindness can be a lonely place. All around me is darkness such that no matter how fast or how far I run, it can at times feel as though I am standing still. No matter how loud the voices of my friends may be, sometimes silence is all I hear. It’s been a frightening and humbling challenge, learning to trust that there is more beyond that empty void — that veil over my eyes. When I remember that, I know that I am never truly alone. Although I can’t see my companions, I know that they are with me. Likewise, even though I cannot see you, I sense your presence in everything I do, and everywhere I go._

_I may have only blind faith to guide me, but I know that, if only for a short while, you will come home to us. Until then, I patiently wait, and pray for your return._

_All my love,_

_Ignis Scientia_

* * *

His legs were ready to buckle underneath him, his lungs practically on fire. His bare feet slammed to the pavement as he ran, absorbing the impact on sore, calloused soles. The crisp, morning air whipped past his face, just barely cool enough to dry up the sweat on his brow. _Just a little farther._ Ignis had lost count of the steps, guessing that he was now well over fifteen hundred. But he remembered how the road bent just before they reached the cape. That little curve after the tunnel, where the concrete warmed in the sun. The smell of salt was intensifying, and if he listened closely, he could just barely hear the waves. He knew they were close. He could make it if he just pushed himself a little harder.

Gladio’s breathless voice sounded from somewhere off to his right. “Aaaand… time!”

 _At last._ Letting his foot hit the asphalt for the final step, Ignis released all the air in his lungs as he slowed to a halt. Every muscle in his legs vibrated with exertion and he was panting profusely, but couldn’t truly relax until he knew his efforts had been fruitful. “Alright…” he gasped. “What was the time…?”

Gladio didn’t answer right away. “You sure you want to know?”

“Of course I want to know.”

Still, the man hesitated. “Well…”

“Gladio.” Ignis sternly crossed his arms, impatient for the answer.

“9:36,” Gladio finally replied with a proud smile in his voice. “Shaved off almost twenty seconds from yesterday.”

Ignis lit up, pleasantly surprised by the result. “Splendid…” he huffed, still winded but very relieved. “Splendid…”

Gladio congratulated him with a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Iggy.”

Heat seeped into Ignis’s cheeks as his face began to flush, though whether from the exercise or from bashful embarrassment, he couldn’t be sure. “I still have a long way to go.”

“Maybe,” Gladio shrugged. “But you’ve come a long way already. Pat yourself on the back once in awhile.”

From Gladio’s first lesson — ‘baby steps’ — until now, Ignis had surpassed every obstacle in his path toward recovery and then some. The first step, a very necessary stage in his training regimen, was learning to walk, comfortably and without aid. Only once he could walk would he be able to run. And, after he’d mastered running, only then could he learn to fight. It would take months, maybe years to restore his full mobility, but time no longer mattered — only progress. Dramatic, visible, measurable progress. Ignis had miles and miles to go, but for now he was elated, and refused to let a single doubt tarnish that accomplishment.

They walked the rest of the way back to Caem, taking a welcome, leisurely pace and basking in their small victory. They didn’t chat, instead listening to the wind in the tall grass, the waves on the beach, the gulls in the air. Ignis hardly needed to follow the sound of his companion’s footsteps any longer, instead able to find his direction from the position of the rising sun. He lifted his head into the warm beams it cast on his face. Mid-morning, he reckoned. Almost time for Noct to be waking up.

And then, he remembered. Noct was gone.

All at once, the running high dissipated. The sobering reality of his best friend’s absence had all but crushed his spirits in an instant, and he realized just how little he’d truly progressed. His recovery had been exemplary, but truly healing was a much more slow and agonizing process. He inched forward in ‘baby steps,’ only to stumble backward in giant leaps. Discouraged, hurting, and inexplicably lonesome all the way.

Ignis stopped walking and stood frozen in the middle of the road. One thought, one memory was all it took to leave him stuck, sinking back into the sludge of depression with no hope of climbing out. He heard Gladio’s footsteps halt before turning back to approach him. He said nothing, and Ignis supposed he needed no explanation for the pause. But his presence alone tugged at Ignis, like an alarm he’d left to snooze. Something unresolved that demanded to be addressed.

“Gladio, I—” he began, not yet certain where the conversation might lead. “I’ve said some things I’m not proud of…”

“We both did,” Gladio said, a bit terse but well within his threshold for gentleness. “But that’s in the past now.”

“Even so,” Ignis dropped his head in shame. “I’m… truly sorry.”

A long silence followed before Gladio answered softly. “Me too, Iggy.”

It was more than plenty for Ignis to let the matter drop. For several weeks, he’d dwelled on his own harsh words from early on in his recovery, hurtful accusations which Gladio did not deserve. It served him right that the same bluntness was returned to him in kind while they all slogged through the mines at Cartanica. The pair had long since put their differences behind them, unceremoniously writing the matter off as a brief lapse in composure for each, a bit of crumbling under pressure. It seemed, however, that Ignis was not alone in remaining troubled by the issue, since the tone in Gladio’s voice softened even further before he said his last piece.

“I’m really glad you decided to stay with us,” he confessed. “It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Ignis, moved and grateful, had to smile. “It is because of your patience and understanding that I have been able to stay,” he lifted his chin, more confident than he’d ever felt. “For that, you have my sincerest thanks.”

The road to recovery and the road to healing were but two lanes of one highway, each with their own winding detours along their routes. He’d lost his sight, and then he’d lost Noct. Since then, he’d been forced to take those two journeys of grief in tandem, hauling himself from station to station with all the willpower he had to spare. Something he’d forgotten, though, was that he was by no means alone in his travels. His friends were grieving as well. In the weeks since Noct had disappeared, time dragged on rather slowly as the trio carried on in a sorrowful daze. And yet, Ignis reminded himself, they had to go on. Not because it was what Noct would have wanted. Not because it was what Lucis needed. But for themselves. They had to find peace, to heal for their own sake and no one else’s.

Gladio lightly clasped his shoulder to regain his attention, an audible smile gleaming in his voice. “Let’s go get ready. Prompto’s been looking forward to this for a long time.”

Ignis nodded before they resumed their trek back to the house. “Indeed.”

Thanks to his weeks of practice, Ignis was able to breeze through his morning routine. He no longer needed to apply the medicinal creams or salves on his skin, and the injuries to his eyes had healed enough that they didn’t require lengthy compresses anymore. Careful, tepid baths had been replaced by brisk showers. He could button his own shirts and style his own hair, hardly ever needing adjustments from Prompto these days. When he was ready, he made his way back down the stairs, still tightly clutching the railing but descending with a normal gait and all the confidence of a man who could see the steps before him. He reached the landing, already aware of Prompto’s presence in the room by the potent aroma of his cologne.

“‘Morning, Iggy!” he greeted him cheerfully. “Hey, you look great! Ten out of ten!”

“You don’t look half bad yourself, Prompto,” Ignis grinned in response, graciously accepting the can of crisp Ebony that was handed to him. “Now, where is Gladio?”

“He’s outside already,” Prompto began ushering him out the door. “You ready to go?”

“I imagine you’ll not be telling me where we’re going?”

“You imagine correctly.”

The blaring sound of a car’s horn interrupted their banter, followed by Gladio’s enthusiastic shouting. “All aboard!”

Ignis climbed into the passenger seat, dismayed to learn that Prompto would be driving for today. Knowing his young friend’s history behind the wheel, very little could instill any confidence in him that they’d arrive at their destination unscathed. But, he supposed, everyone deserved a second chance, and he endeavored to hold his tongue for the duration of this trip, lest he ruin the fun of wherever they were going. Reluctantly, he settled in, buckled his seatbelt and sent a prayer to the Astrals for a safe journey before turning to the driver. “Drive carefully.”

Rather disobediently, Prompto drove as erratically as ever. It was typical for him to take turns too fast and stop too hard, with a little too much pressure on the gas and not nearly enough attention on the road. Furthermore, this vehicle was decidedly _not_ the regalia, and could never hope to match the smoothness of their old steed’s motions. In fact, Ignis questioned whether or not this car could even handle these bumpy, uneven roads and dangerously sharp turns. Every jolt left him convinced that they’d blown a tire or hit an animal. Every groan of the engine sounded as though it could give out any second. And without being able to see, he couldn’t even act as Prompto’s second set of eyes anymore.

It was a rather long drive — over two hours. Prompto had the radio nearly on full blast, belting the lyrics along with Gladio for song after ear-grating song. Ignis sat stiff as a board while being helplessly tossed about, clenching the safety handle in his fist and breathing deeply through his nose to stave off the nausea. Desperate to take his mind off the anxiety and drown out the noise, he tried to guess where they might be heading. Lestallum was a bit far for a day trip, but not entirely unreasonable. Galdin Quay or Hammerhead would have required an overnight stay. He puzzled for some time, not really coming up with any answers but at least distracting himself for a while.

Just as he was getting used to the jerking motions of the car speeding over potholes and careening around every bend, he felt a shift in the terrain as the vehicle pulled onto a gravely path off the side of the freeway.

“Woohoo!” Prompto cheered. “We’re almost there!”

Gladio muttered from the backseat. “Yeah, just don’t screw up the parking this time.”

There truly was no mistaking the smell of chocobos. Ignis caught the scent from almost a mile away. _They’re taking me to the chocobo post?_ There wasn’t much time for him to ponder why they’d chosen this place before the car came to a bit of a bumpy stop. Prompto hopped out of the driver’s seat the moment he’d pulled the key out of the ignition and sprinted out of earshot. Though Ignis didn’t require any assistance, he did welcome Gladio’s kind gesture of helping him out of his seat and closing the door behind him. He was half tempted to pull out his cane but resisted the urge, instead finding his way toward the center of the post on his own, guided only by the sound of Gladio’s heavy, crunching footsteps in the gravel.

They were soon greeted by a familiar, warm voice. “It’s mighty good to see you boys,” Wiz said with genuine cheer in his words. “The birds sure missed ya.”

“Aw, and we missed them!” Prompto exclaimed cheerfully, already darting off toward where the birds were tied up, chirping happily and flapping their wings. “Yes, we did, we missed you cute little—!”

“Gimme a break…” Gladio grumbled, exasperated but not hiding his amusement. “How’ve you been, Wiz?”

“Still kickin’,” Wiz answered proudly. “Takes a lot to knock me down.”

“Gladio!” Prompto shouted from some distance away. “Come take a picture for me!”

The remaining three took a moment to chortle amongst themselves before Gladio excused himself, leaving Ignis and Wiz alone for a bit. Wiz softened his tone when he spoke again, more cautious, but no less kind or understanding. “I heard about what happened. A damn shame…” he sighed, shaking his head. “Real glad you were able to make it back.”

Ignis tensed, wondering just how much Wiz really knew. “Likewise,” he replied, wary of the darkening mood in the conversation. “Things have been well here, I hope?”

“Well, the shorter days are starting to take a toll, but we’re making the most of it,” he turned to glance in the direction where Prompto and Gladio had gone. After a pause, Ignis could hear the smile creeping back into his words. “Chocobos are still in good spirits for the time being.”

Ignis followed his voice, barely catching the distant sound of Prompto giggling over by the stables. His excitement was accompanied by the cooing and whinnying of birds, thrilled to have guests and pleading for treats, as if it had been some time since they’d been visited by anyone. Those glimmers of joy in the atmosphere were much needed and long overdue, and alongside Wiz, Ignis couldn’t help smiling as he listened to them. “That’s good to hear.”

“Speakin’ of which, how’s about you take yer ol’ girl for a ride?”

Ignis started at the suggestion. “Oh… I’m not sure I could—”

He cut off when his attention was diverted by an unexpected feathery nudge at his shoulder, followed by a happy chirp in his ear. His heart leapt in his chest when he realized who had come to greet him.

“Darling, my old friend…” he smiled as he gave her an affectionate scratch under the chin. “It’s been far too long.”

Darling trilled gleefully and nuzzled his arm. It had been so long since he’d seen her that Ignis was both surprised and thrilled that she even remembered him. From just these few moments spent in her presence, he could clearly tell that she hadn’t changed a bit. Darling had a very emotive personality that most would describe as temperamental or problematic if they didn’t take the time to understand her. She had a commanding presence and was very intelligent, but at the same time she was sensitive and a bit melodramatic. She could be moody and tempestuous, but incredibly charming and graceful. She craved attention, not in a clingy or needy manner, but because she simply enjoyed it. She was fearless and protective, with a hot temper toward those who crossed her, but she bonded well with her riding partner and was very affectionate in that regard. Darling was a perfect debutante, a prima donna in the truest sense, and at the same time a gentle, dignified, and loving companion with a fiery confidence in her stride that perfectly matched his own disposition. Ignis had truly missed her, and it was obvious that she had missed him too.

“She’s all yours,” Wiz chimed in while the two reacquainted themselves. “Officially certified and everything.”

“Pardon?” Ignis asked, unsure if he’d heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”

“No rental fees necessary,” Wiz clarified, depositing a small, metal object into Ignis’s hand. “Just blow this whistle, and she’ll come to you. Keep her as long as you like.”

Ignis was completely and entirely dumbfounded. “Wiz…”

“Don’t mention it,” the rancher clapped him on the back. “I think she’ll be a big help to ya.”

Gravel and leaves crunched as more footsteps approached their position — Prompto and Gladio, followed by their own chocobos. Prompto’s voice piped up with enthusiastic fervor as soon as they were in range. “Surprise!”

“Prompto, Gladio…” Ignis gasped, still thoroughly stunned. “You did this?”

“Did what?”

They broke out into laughter, and Ignis realized he’d likely never get a clear answer out of them. He supposed it didn’t matter anyway. However it came to be, Darling was now _his_ and his alone. He could now call her his own beloved pet — his steed, his companion — for as long as she would live, and he would surely make a point to come and visit her as often as possible.

Ignis laughed along with his friends until Darling began pecking at his jacket, fighting for his attention. Already wrapped around her talons, he obediently resumed petting her, stroking the feathers along her neck and affectionately nuzzling her beak. She settled down almost instantly, melting in his hands with a blissful sigh.

“She really likes you,” Wiz observed fondly. “Yer a perfect fit. Seein’ her this happy warms my heart.”

Ignis was almost certain that Darling knew she was being complimented. “Quite the charmer, she is.”

“Take her for a ride. Let her stretch her feathers a little. She’s been waitin’ an awful long time.”

Still apprehensive, but trusting in his friends and in his steed, Ignis nodded, agreeing to accompany his companions for a short ride. With Gladio spotting from behind, he climbed carefully atop Darling’s back and clung tightly to her reins. The sensation of hanging there above the ground was not entirely unlike riding in the car or the royal vessel, but still somewhat foreign by comparison. Once again, he would be at someone else’s mercy, without the comfort of terrain beneath his dangling feet. By his insistence, they started at a slow saunter as they walked off the property and onto the road. Gladio and his chocobo took the lead from several paces ahead. Prompto stayed at his side, muttering soft, encouraging words — though whether they were meant for him or his bird, Ignis couldn’t really be sure.

He never once let go of the reins, and in fact spent most of the ride with his arms almost entirely wrapped around Darling’s neck. The trio had gradually increased their speed, much to his own trepidation, but he did not protest. Darling had been trained and certified to assist a disabled man; it was imperative that he trust her with his safety and well-being. After some time, he couldn’t help noticing that there was a shroud closing overhead.

“Seems to be getting dark,” Ignis observed, hoping that the sky was simply overcast. “Has it really been that long?”

“Uh… It’s actually only about three in the afternoon. The sun goes down earlier and earlier these days…” Prompto lamented in response. “But hey, you want to stop? Give the birds a rest for a few minutes?”

“Certainly. Could stand to stretch my own legs while we’re at it.”

"Alright!" Prompto jumped to the ground with ease, making his way around to Ignis. "You need some help?"

Ignis had already hopped down and was gently ruffling the feathers atop Darling's head. "I think I've got it."

"Wow, Iggy! Great job!" Prompto cheered before shouting off into the distance. “Hey, Gladio! We’re stopping!”

Ignis kept a firm hold on Darling’s reins, following where she led as they stepped off the paved road and onto the grass. From what he could gather, they’d reached a sort of clearing. Beneath his feet were small stones and patches of gravel, rather than leaves. The light, though dimming, warmed his skin, unobstructed by clouds or trees. The wind blew freely, unhindered by foliage and nearly silent as it stirred the air. The atmosphere was calm. Peaceful. More so than Ignis had experienced in many months. With a friendly pat on the shoulder, he sent Darling off to entertain herself while he took the time to chat with his young friend.

He turned his face toward the setting sun, stepping cautiously in the direction of Prompto’s footfalls. It truly was easier each day, walking by himself. With every successful step, his confidence grew. Objects around him emitted a sort of aura that he couldn't explain. Shapes in the darkness for now, but solid and tangible enough that he could almost sense their exact position. He could touch them. He could avoid them. In a way, with the most loose of interpretations, he could see them.

Likewise, he could intuit the locations of people. Gladio had long since run off ahead, but Ignis knew where he was. Out on the plain, a good dozen or so meters away, wrestling in the open field with his own chocobo. Ignis could hear the tall, dry grass crinkling beneath their bodies, the happy chirping of his bird and the booming, hearty laughter of the man's voice. Beside him, ten paces away, then eight, then less than five, he found Prompto. Fidgeting. Staring. Filled to the brim with words he was too nervous to speak aloud.

"It's refreshing to regain bits of mobility," Ignis smiled into the breeze on his face, breaking the ice on his friend’s behalf. "The less help I need myself, the more I can help others."

Prompto hummed in agreement. "Yeah… We’re really proud of you, Iggy."

The words were sincere, but Ignis could sense his uncertainty in the struggle to keep his voice from shaking. He’d not talked much since leaving Gralea, and Ignis didn’t blame him after the trauma he’d endured there — abuse so vile that he refused to ever describe it. In his heart, Ignis ached for him, empathizing greatly with his pain. They were both victims of that same villain. Both had suffered greatly at his hands, and both were left with permanent scars that would take many months, if not years to heal.

He placed a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. "You have my thanks, Prompto. Always. Can’t say where I’d be if I didn’t have you or Gladio."

There was no answer from Prompto, save for a shuddering gasp. Ignis was not in the least bit offended — that was more than enough acknowledgment for him. Allowing his friend the time to process his thoughts, he let his gaze fall to the distance again. It was too early for the sun to hang so low in the sky. Too soon for the cold of darkness to blot out the warmth of light. So too was it a shame for Prompto's sunny disposition to be so dampened as it was now. There were many days along Ignis’s journey of recovery where only the bright smile in Prompto’s voice could cheer him up. Even on his worst days wherein he couldn’t leave his bed, Prompto’s jokes never failed to garner at least a smirk from him. And on those days when his pride got the best of him and he would stumble and fall, oftentimes only Prompto’s encouraging words could coax him back to his feet. But, he supposed, those comforts were a privilege, and it was selfish to preoccupy himself with their absence when it was clear that his friend was unwell. It was a topic not to be approached lightly, and perhaps he wasn’t even qualified to bring it up, but Ignis more than owed it to him to return the favor somehow.

"Prompto…” he began gently. “How are you feeling?"

"H-Huh?" Prompto asked, seemingly caught off guard by the question. "Me? W-Well, I’m… I’m fine. Sorry, I kinda spaced out on you there."

Unconvinced, but unwilling to pry, Ignis was silent. For all he knew, it would have been best to leave well enough alone and avoid reopening old wounds. And yet, he could hear the noise in Prompto’s mind, the words lingering on his tongue. He was shifting from foot to foot, unable to settle his nerves for even a second. Taking a step out from the shade, Ignis found a soft patch of grass and sat down on the ground, cross-legged and leaning backward against the wind. They may not have had the luxury of time, but Ignis was willing to wait all afternoon to see if Prompto would accept his invitation. It was the least he could do.

And accept it he did. Prompto flopped himself onto the ground almost immediately, heaving a grateful sigh as he did. Several more seconds passed as his pulse gradually slowed before he finally started talking. “I, uh… I got a text the other day. From Vyv,” he began to pluck at some blades of grass which snapped in half at his touch. “He’s going on a tour of Lucis… Wants me to come along and take some photos.”

“That’s wonderful news, Prompto,” Ignis congratulated him sincerely. “When will you be going?”

“Well, um… I…” he exhaled sharply. “I haven’t responded yet…”

Ignis tilted his head. “You’d best hurry while you still have the chance. Wouldn’t want to miss out on such an incredible opportunity.”

“Y-Yeah, I know. I just… Uh…” Prompto stammered as he searched for the right words, clearly conflicted about his response. “I don’t want to leave you and Gladio behind, you know? I mean, after everything that’s happened and all the stuff we have to do now… What with Noct gone, and…”

He trailed off right where Ignis expected him to. It seemed that between the three of them, their conversations, even in their thoughts, all roads led to Noct. Therein lay the grief. Therein lay the sorrow. Noct was lost. Vanished without a trace. Someplace where none could follow him. 

Memories from that last, fateful day still haunted Ignis in those times whenever he was alone with his thoughts. He’d never forget the sound of Prompto’s hysterical sobbing as they stood in front of the crystal, shocked, bewildered, and devastated. They were too late, having shown up mere moments after their prince, their _friend_ was lost inside. The image set off a twinge in his chest and Ignis winced at the sudden onset of sharp pain there — pain which he most certainly shared with his friends.

In the silence that followed, the weight of unsaid words sat heavily on their shoulders, each of them praying that if they kept the despair to themselves, it would never be real. But like a balloon threatening to pop any moment, overfilled to its very breaking point, every passing second only increased the tension. The release began with Prompto, finally having summoned the courage to ask the harrowing question festering in the backs of both their minds.

“How…” he whispered before stopping himself. He’d lost the nerve. They waited in deafening silence again until he swallowed hard and took another breath. “How do we go on… without him?”

An agonizing question if there ever was one. Unsure if he’d ever be able to answer it, Ignis searched himself, reflecting deeply on all the wisdom he’d gained in the weeks that passed since he’d lost his sight. _Grief._ He hadn't thought to describe his experience as such until his doctor suggested it, but once his emotional state was given that label, everything fell into place. He recognized each stage as he lived them in succession, one after another. Sometimes forward, sometimes backward, sometimes several at once. And now, he was beginning to see those same stages in Prompto. That same grief, that same pain. It tugged at him, and he resisted, just as Ignis had. He denied it, just like Ignis did. He grasped at relief and fell to despair with all the same sense of hopelessness that Ignis experienced himself.

“I’m afraid I can’t say,” he stroked his chin as he plotted out his best attempt at a suitable response. “I suppose… we must each find our own way to carry on. There is still much to be done here. Lucis needs us.”

Prompto chuckled, a little uncomfortably. “I guess it’s really that simple, isn’t it?”

Ignis sighed in defeat. “No,” he admitted. “Not really.”

Ignis chided himself for such short and distant answers. They were rather cold, sounding too matter-of-fact, altogether not helpful. He took little comfort in them, and expected all the same from Prompto. Still, there was some truth to those words. The people of Lucis needed warriors who could fight to protect them. They needed Gladio’s strength. They needed Prompto’s optimism. And, he guessed, they needed Ignis’s guidance as well. But, it really was not that simple. First things first, the trio needed each other. They needed each other’s courage and their wisdom, and that was never more obvious than it was in this moment, as Prompto turned once more to his friend in search of comfort and security that he couldn’t find on his own.

"You think he’s really coming back?"

Ignis didn't answer right away. It was a question he'd battled with himself for the past few weeks — a battle that he won less and less often as time went on. The images presented to him by the Kings — the prophecy he longed to reject — continued to torment him. Noct, hunched over on his throne while royal arm after royal arm was plunged into him. His very essence fading to nothing as his destiny was fulfilled. Ignis refused to accept it outright. Though doubt creeped in a little further each day, he would not waver in his trust, his blind faith that Noct would return. Perhaps in a week, perhaps in many years. But he would be back. Ignis believed that with all the strength he had left.

"Yes," he assured his friend, though failing to mask the doubts in his own voice. "He has to."

"But how can you be sure?" Prompto asked more insistently. "Just when we thought we had him back… he slipped right through our fingers. He could be stuck in there forever.”

"He wouldn't have wanted us to lose hope."

Prompto paused for a moment as the message sank in. “You’re right…” he agreed, his words stronger and more decisive. “Gotta stay strong, like him…”

He rose from the ground, extending a hand to pull Ignis to his feet with him. "Once he gets back," he requested, brushing some of the dead leaves and broken grass off of his jeans. “Let’s make sure he stays put this time.”

There was a bite, a sting to those words. One that Ignis didn't expect. His breath caught, a choked gasp in his throat. How he envied Prompto. How he longed for that blissful ignorance. Would that he had the stomach to reveal what he knew. But Ignis couldn't bring himself to say it now. Some day, yes. He would have no choice but to inform Prompto and Gladio. Their hearts would both break, and his would probably shatter all over again along with them. They would all walk the journey of grief for a second time, together. Already, he braced himself for the impact — the reopening of that wound which had not yet fully closed.

"Right," he spoke through gritted teeth, grateful that the shades over his eyes could mask the pain in his expression. "We'll make sure of it."

Gladio rejoined the party and, with the sky darkening steadily, they made their way back to the Post. None could predict how much longer there would be daylight in Lucis, nor what would happen to their world when that light was finally extinguished altogether. Ignis truly hoped that Prompto would accept Vyv’s invitation and seize the opportunity to capture as much of it as he could before it was gone. For the world-weary citizens who might forget what their country looked like bathed in the sun. For the children who would be born, never knowing anything but darkness. For Noct, who would return to deliver his people from that darkness and bring about a new future of light — one that he himself would never see. For his sake — for all their sakes — Ignis prayed that Prompto would preserve the image of Lucis as it was now, in all its wondrous beauty, as only he could do.

It wasn’t long before they’d reached Wiz’s ranch. They arrived to the sound of a particularly agitated chocobo squawking loudly, snapping its beak, and flapping its wings as a handful of ranch workers tried in vain to settle it down. A sympathetic but concerned Wiz was heard muttering to the creature, but his efforts were just as futile as the rest. It struggled under the restraint of four pairs of hands, screeching and kicking its powerful legs, so clearly upset that the trio wondered if perhaps it had been spooked or injured.

“Gosh… everything okay, Wiz?” Prompto spoke up as they neared the stables. “What happened?”

“Oh, he’ll be alright,” Wiz tutted with a piteous tone. “He was just jealous when he saw y’all leavin’. He’s used to goin’ with ya and doesn’t quite understand…”

The bird continued to fuss and cry, much to the chagrin of his handlers. Quickly exhausting their gentlest methods of calming the restless chocobo, the workers huffed in exasperation for each piercing shriek that erupted from the bird’s beak. The inexplicable rage was obvious in its harsh tone, but more than that, Ignis could hear sadness in its voice as each note ended with a mournful fall. Careful not to get too close, he took a couple of steps forward, studying the sound curiously as he neared the writhing animal.

“So… that’s Noct’s chocobo?”

“Sure is,” Wiz grunted, tugging at the bird’s reins as he tried to placate him with some greens. “He really misses his ridin’ partner.”

There was another sorrowful cry and a violent ruffling of feathers as the chocobo rejected the attempt at a bribe. Wiz chastised the creature for making such a racket and frightening his guests, waving the trio to a safe distance. And yet, unintimidated by its display of anger and resentment, Ignis resumed his approach toward the bird. With utmost caution, he reached ahead of him until he made contact with the animal’s chin. The bird whined, but otherwise put up no further resistance as Ignis tangled his fingers between the soft feathers of its cheek.

Everyone else in the vicinity took several steps back, watching in awe as the previously incensed chocobo allowed Ignis to slip his arms lightly around its neck. It no longer flailed about or shrieked. It didn’t kick or bite him. It vocalized with soft, plaintive cooing as it went limp and rested its chin on Ignis’s shoulder. He understood then the grief that the poor bird felt. The same grief he’d spent months enduring. The same grief he’d seen in both Gladio and Prompto. Wiz had claimed that the chocobo didn’t understand, but from this heartbreaking exchange alone, it was quite clear to Ignis that the animal understood perfectly. He knew what he’d lost, _whom_ he’d lost. He mourned that loss just as the rest of them did, stages and all.

As he stroked its neck, listening intently to its hoarse whines, he whispered back as if he’d understood every word it said. “Me too.”

When he tried to pull away, the bird chirped and yanked at his collar in a last desperate plea for his continued attention. Chuckling, Ignis tightened the embrace for just a bit longer as the chocobo comfortably buried its nose in his jacket. He soon began to understand that the bird could likely smell Noct on him, and therefore it was no wonder that he’d become so comfortable with him. It was almost symbolic, he realized, that even though Noct was gone, Ignis carried part of him with him everywhere he went. Perhaps not detectable to himself or to anyone else, but still present all the same.

“He’ll be back,” he whispered, softly enough so that only the bird could hear. “I promise.”

Ignis believed those words with all his heart. He had already put in weeks of practice learning to trust that a person was indeed there with him even if he could not see them — a necessary step in adjusting to blindness. It was easier, then, to believe that Noct, though now only existing as a faint wisp, drifting beyond his senses, was never really gone. In letting himself indulge, it was as if a massive burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and a deep, familiar pain at last was relieved. It lasted only a moment, but it was that glimmer of light and warmth that stuck with him as the happiest he’d felt in ages. He wished the same for the mourning chocobo that trembled in his arms — that he, too, might one day reach that same state of peace.

Far too soon, it was time to say their goodbyes. Along with a final scratch on the chin for Noct’s chocobo and a warm hug around the neck for Darling, Ignis offered one last promise for them both before reluctantly taking his leave — a promise he intended to keep. “We’ll meet again.”

The drive back was darker and more quiet, but by no means somber. Among the soft hum of the road and the steady rhythm of Prompto’s music, Ignis reflected a bit longer on the lessons he’d learned today. For all the time he’d spent dwelling on the journey of grief, he’d given little thought to that final stage. Denial and anger were easy to recognize, and likewise bargaining and depression had clearly left their scars. When, he pondered, would he know that he had reached that sense of acceptance? Was there, in fact, a defining moment wherein he was fully healed from grief? Was it when he could first manage to smile and laugh again? Was it when the pain and sorrow ended and he reached a state of contentment? Would he even know when he’d made peace with the loss of his sight, or the sudden absence of his best friend?

These were questions he considered that he might never have the answer to, and indeed, perhaps no one did. But maybe that wasn’t the point. It could very well be that the real purpose of this journey was in discovering what each station along the way meant to the grief-stricken. What it meant to deny that pain and loss, what it meant to bargain for its return, and what it meant to finally accept that what was gone, was gone. Maybe these journeys were vastly different for Gladio and Prompto, as the two likewise came to terms with the disappearance of their friend, visiting each station in their own time. Ignis only hoped that he could offer them the same help that they’d given him as they sought healing of their own. Maybe there was nothing he could really do, but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least try.

Some time after they’d returned to the house in Caem, Ignis sat at the dining table, quietly sipping a warm cup of Ebony and reflecting on the day’s events. Most everyone had gone to sleep, though he was certain that Gladio and Prompto wouldn’t have retired without at least wishing him goodnight. As expected, a collection of footsteps entered the room from behind him, quite obviously belonging to his friends.

Prompto’s voice spoke up first. “Did you have a good time, Ignis?”

“Yes, I did,” Ignis answered warmly, setting down his cup to fully address them. “I must thank you both… for everything.”

A firm hand gripped his shoulder — Gladio’s hand. “There’s one more thing we wanted to give you.”

“Oh?”

Ignis hadn’t the chance to wonder just what was the occasion before they silently handed him a notebook. It was small enough to fit inside one of his jacket pockets. It was leather-bound and filled with thick, clean sheets of parchment. Along with the notebook, he was given a simple, ball-point pen. It was a set just like the one in which he’d written his recipes. Just like the one he tossed into the sea several weeks ago.

“My recipe book…” he whispered in awe, dragging his fingertips over the decorative etching along the book’s spine. “But how did…?”

“We couldn’t get the old one back, so… we got you a new one.”

He opened the booklet, flipping through the blank pages one by one. From front to back, it was completely empty. The paper was smooth, completely untouched. He recalled how his old notebook was filled with ink scratches, every page marked by deep, angry grooves from the several pens he’d emptied into it. It was, in many ways, a paper representation of his own brain — a mind which never slept. Always thinking, always plotting. A strategist’s brain. A tactician’s brain. But now, after significant trauma and loss, he was left with a similar booklet that mirrored his mind just as closely. Fresh, empty, and awaiting a new story.

“Thank you…” he breathed, deeply moved by the gesture. “It’s a wonderful gift.”

Seemingly uncomfortable with the sentimental nature of the conversation, Prompto fidgeted in place for a few seconds before speaking again. “So, uh… You gonna fill it up with your recipes again?”

Ignis thought for a spell. When he first woke after the incident that had taken his eyes from him, he was given another small, leather-bound notebook. One which contained a lifetime’s worth of memories between two friends and lovers — a decade-long story that came to a tragic end. As was requested of him, he returned that booklet to Noct on the day that he woke, that he might carry those memories with him for as long as he lived. Perhaps, by doing so, he kept the story going. Perhaps, in a way, a piece of his fallen love lived on in those pages, never truly gone as long as she was not forgotten.

Ignis thumbed the pages of his new booklet once more. He wasn’t even sure if he could still write. He hadn’t tried. It could take weeks, maybe even months to relearn the practice. But, he supposed, time no longer mattered — only progress. Dramatic, visible, measurable progress. In his hands, he held a blank canvas. To fill it with mere recipes would simply be replicating old art. A full re-telling of someone else’s story. No, this time, he would mark these pages with something entirely new. A different story. _His_ story.

“I think,” he opened the pen with a satisfying click. “I’d like to write a letter.”

“A letter?” his friends questioned. “To whom?”

“To Noct,” he flipped back to the first page, smoothing it out with his fingers. The parchment itself was warm, inviting. It vibrated in his grasp, anticipating the artistry he would soon draw upon it. He faced Gladio and Prompto once more, beckoning them to join. “Will you help me?”

The road to recovery and the road to healing were but two lanes of one highway, each with their own winding detours along their routes. The journey was to be traversed in tiny increments — ‘baby steps’. Sometimes forward, sometimes backward. The stages of grief were mere stations to be visited over and over until one had truly exhausted the lessons therein. But something Ignis would never let himself forget was that he would never, ever be alone in his travels. No matter where those winding detours took the three of them, no matter how long they spent at each station along the way, they walked this path in tandem. For the first time, he asked his friends for help, but his true intentions were to invite them to take this journey with him, through denial and anger, bargaining and despair. And when they finally reached their destination, acceptance, they would find each other waiting there when they arrived. Together, as a team, they will have truly and fully healed. They will have learned how to carry on, not because it was what Noct would have wanted, but for themselves. For their own sake, and no one else’s.

Already anticipating that glimpse of peace the future held for them, Ignis smiled at his companions. Slowly, one smile became two, and two became three. Chair legs scraped along the wooden floor as Gladio and Prompto joined him at the table.

“‘Course we will. Let’s get started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a journey this has been. I'm no stranger to the stages of grief, and I'm sure plenty of you have your own experiences as well. Particularly after a year like 2020, of which I spent more than half writing this story, I felt myself living through these stages over and over again. Even now, I have not yet reached a state of healing. But it was because of that pain that I was able to create this, and it is because we can endure grief that we are strong and can grow and learn.
> 
> Ignis is a character that I will always feel a close attachment to. I can joke all day and night about how thirsty I am for FFXV's prettiest boy, but there is a fierce determination, a courage under fire, and an unbending devotion in his character that I believe we can all aspire to. It's been a privilege to explore him with this character study, to truly understand every facet of who this man is and how he changed from the young, uptight chamberlain into the peaceful and compassionate friend we saw at the end of the game. Ignis is a complex man, and I can't wait to write even more for him.
> 
> I can't thank you enough for reading this story, for leaving a comment, for clicking the kudo button. It really means the world to me to know that this piece I spent so long creating is appreciated. I hope you'll stick around to see the other things I write. In fact, you might even see a little bit more of this fic if you keep an eye out... 
> 
> For more angsty character studies, check out On the Mend: Isa's Awakening or WINNER. Please consider following me on twitter (@ostelan) and tumblr (Ostelan Excruciasm). Furthermore, I'd love to have you join my discord server, Ignis Thirsting Hours, where we simp for Ignis 24/7.
> 
> https://discord.gg/bcM6rBEn
> 
> Until next time, my friends. Walk tall <3
> 
> Peace and love,  
> Ostelan


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